Petals of a Grey Rose
by Scarletquillraven
Summary: All seems lost for Erik, until a family takes him in. And as it would happen, there's an angel in the family. And then disaster strikes . . .2004 movieKay based. EOC.
1. Dark Fire

**Yo. This is my first phanfic (squeal!), but I'm not going to give you the "no flamers" lecture, because you shouldn't flame anyone, no matter how new they are to fanfiction. I've had this story rattling around my head for a while, but I haven't had the courage to type it up until now. Sorry this is a bit short. I love reviews, even if they're just "that's nice". I love constructive criticism too. So . . . review! This is 2004 movie/Kay based. That's about all. Enjoy!**

Chapter 1 – Dark Fire

Fire had destroyed the music. He played with the idea in his, and chuckled bitterly at the irony of it all. Fire, one of the main topics of his opera, had burned the opera, his home. And he had done it, it was all his fault. Everything was: the destruction of the opera house, Christine's hatred for him, his own downfall . . . Christine had to hate him now, after all he had done. He ran the events though his mind.

By the time the mob had come to kill him, he had already disappeared. He had wandered aimlessly through his many tunnels and passageways for hours. He had not even thought anything. He had been struck dumb by sorrow and anger.

Finally, he came to box five. Standing alone, he gazed out and the theatre. He was alone. Everyone was long gone, leaving him in eerie solitude. The fire had been extinguished, but most of the velvet seats had been reduced to ash. Bits of crystal and metal from the chandelier lay strewn about the ruins like corpses on a battle field where both sides had lost. Moonlight came from a gaping hole in the ceiling above him and bathed him in its mournful glow. Looking out at this sad scene, looking at what he had caused, brought on a new wave of misery. He turned to walk back into the shadows. The wood on the floor of the box, though, had been weakened by the flames. And the fragile timber gave out under his weight. He fell though and landed on his front on a pile of broken boards and nails. He rolled himself over and stared up at the moon. He knew he was bleeding somewhere and he had broken something in the fall, but he was too angry and exhausted to help himself. It was there he began his thoughts of hatred for himself.

_There's no point in me living any longer. _He decided. _I'm ruined._

"I'm ruined!" he roared at the sky. "Do you hear me? Ruined!"

His mind began flashing pictures of old memories. Something he had always kept in the bottom of the darkest abyss of his brain flooded into his mind's eye.

The first of his birthdays that was actually acknowledged and celebrated had been his fifth. He had come down to dinner, the special one made just for him, and as he did so, broke his mother's most important rule; he had arrived in the dining room without his mask.. His mother's friend was not bothered so much by his face, but his mother flew into a terrible rage. He asked her why he had to wear it anyway, because at that point it was too tight and was very uncomfortable. At that, she grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him up the stairs to the forbidden threshold that was her bedroom. She stood him in front of her mirror.

"Look at yourself!" she had screamed "Look at yourself and see why you must wear a mask!"

In that moment, time in his world stopped. He had always worn the mask, unquestioning, and never setting eyes on a mirror. He had never thought about it before that incident. Then he realized that no one else, not the priest, or his, mother, or her friend, or anyone he ever saw out his window, wore a mask. It had always been a simple fact of life. A fact he had questioned. A question that had an hideous, ugly answer.

At that point, time started itself again, and he threw himself at the reflection. He ignored the blood streaming from his hands and wrists. It was a small price to pay to be rid of that face . . .

His face . . .

"Death, strike now!" he screamed to the heavens from his bed of burnt timber. "Take your willing prey!" Despite his pain, he was still able to yell at a surprising volume.

Then, as he lay there, he heard steps. Wood cracked under feet that were drawing closer and closer to his sprawled-out body. He tried to move his head in the direction of the sound, but suddenly he felt strangely dizzy and tired. Blackness crawled into his vision and he felt feverish.

The footsteps came to a stop next to him, and the wooded crackled as the stranger knelt down. A few minutes past, though he knew not how many, and then he felt himself being enveloped in something warm and soft. He barely noticed the mysterious person lift him up. His consciousness was slipping. But as he was carried from the burnt out inferno of music and memories to welcomed darkness, he muttered words and names, some to himself, and some to Death.


	2. Somewhere New

**Hi everyone! I can't believe it, but I forgot the disclaimer last time ****and**** I used direct quotes from Susan Kay's wonderful book ****Phantom**** without crediting her! Shame on me! Well, this is for everyone who was planning to sue me:**

**Disclaimer: **If I owned it, would I be writing fanfics about it?

**So there you go. I had no idea what to call this installment, so I just wrote something random. More than 50 people saw the last chapter, and only 5 reviewed! And 3 of those people I told personally that I had a fanfic up and that they should review! I feel so unloved (cries)! This is the chapter where two important characters are introduced. One is a lot of fun to write about. I hope you enjoy her, too! Now, without further ado (wow! a rhyme!), **

Chapter 2: Somewhere new

"Sir?"

_Is that a voice? Talking to me?_

"Sir, you need to move. Are you awake?"

_That's a good question. Am I awake?_

"Can you hear me? If you could lift your torso up a bit, it'd be a big help."

_That voice sounds like a child's._ His eyes opened a little so they were just slim slits between his lashes. There was dim light, but he couldn't make much out without opening his eyes wider. He felt sick, and was tired, so he shut them again.

"Oh, just move already!" there was a pause "Fine, I'll move you myself!" He felt hands grab his shoulders and pull him roughly up into a sitting position. There was the shuffling sound of pillows being moved around. After a few seconds of fumbling, he was dropped back onto the pile of pillows. Pain flared in his rib cage, and he moaned quietly before he could stop himself. "Suck it up, boyo." _Definitely a child._

Whatever happened next, he didn't know what it was, because he passed out again shortly after being moved. When he woke up again, he found he had the strength to open his eyes completely and look around at wherever he was.

It was a small bedroom. The walls were not painted, but they were made of beautiful oak wood, and were polished so they reflected the light of the single candle on the bedside table. He was on a bed and was covered by a light blanket. Old strips of cloth were wrapped around his abdomen. A little girl with dirty blond hair and a round face who could have been no older than nine was slumped over in sleep with her head resting on his mattress. As soon as he noticed that he was not alone, his hand flew to his face. He ignored the pain in his ribs that came with the sudden movement. He had not been wearing his mask when he had been taken from the opera house by who-knows-who, so he must not be wearing it now . . .

His fingers touched cool cloth. As he felt around his face, he realized he was wearing a make-shift mask made out of an old wet cloth with eyeholes cut in it. He sighed with relief and dropped his hand. A horrible idea struck him, and he lifted the blankets and looked under. He was wearing the same pants as he had last night (or what he had assumed was last night, as he had no two clues how long ago Don Juan Triumphant had been), and they were still just as dusty and sooty as they had been then, too. So they had not taken the liberty of changing/cleaning his pants for him. That was a good sign. But someone must have seen his face, or they would not have covered it. His eyes flew immediately to the girl on the chair by his bed.

He stared at her for a few minutes. She did look tired. Exhausted, actually. That would explain why she had been so grumpy earlier. If it was the same girl from before, anyway. Chances were it was. He wondered who her guardians were. _They must be very courageous;_ he thought, _to take __me__ in. Or very stupid._

For a moment he considered the idea that they were just good people who did not know he was an insane genius-murderer and had heard him yelling that fateful night and brought him into their home out of the goodness of their hearts. But he dispelled that thought immediately. No one was crazy enough to take some random man from a burnt building and into their house, no matter how good they are. Especially from L'Opera Populaire. It had to be all over the news. Or at least the rumor of the opera ghost would be enough to make someone think twice about bringing him into their home and keeping them around his family.

There was a long time were he was absorbed in his thoughts. The realization that his stomach was making hungry squelching noises was the thing that snapped him from his reverie. He was starving. Who knew how long it had been since he had eaten last? The few days before his opera debuted, he had not eaten anything. He had not been nervous, but he had simply spent the whole time with his music, his brain swimming in an ocean of dreams about Christine. _I will have her. _He had thought. _In a matter of hours she will be mine. I will win this battle . . . _

He had lost.

The memory struck him so hard he fell back on the pillows like something had really hit him. For the past months, he had worked, thought, breathed, lived, _sang_ for Christine. He had loved someone. His life had been centered around the girl. A wheel cannot roll without an axis. He could not live without her. He had had that hope that she would one day leave the world of light and join him.

It had been a childish fantasy. He had known that. But he had still wanted it.

Teaching to love, love to obsession, and obsession to death.

Suddenly, the little girl moved and brought him back from the dark labyrinth of his thoughts. She lifted her head, blinking blurrily. After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she turned her head to look at him. Since his eyes were closed again, she assumed he was still asleep.

"Are you _ever_ going to wake up?" she muttered irritably "The fever's gone. There's no need to sleep for another day!"

"Clearly, you are not keen on the prospect of speaking to me at this time, so may I talk to your parents or whoever takes care of you?"

The girl jumped back when he spoke. "Alright then, maybe you are awake." There was an awkward moment when the two just stared at each other. She did not seem as scared as he had thought she would be. Actually, she looked more curious . . .

"PAPA! THE SLEEPING MAN'S AWAKE AND HE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!"

He cringed at how load she could yell. There was a moment of silence, and then footsteps could be heard coming from outside in the hall.

"Genny, please don't shout like that when there are sick people in the house. I've had enough noise as it is from Madeline, I don't need any more from you . . ."

A tall man walked into the room and pulled up a stool to sit next to the girl by the bed. He looked to be about forty, but it was hard too tell. His dark hair was sticking out at strange angles. His face was pale, it almost looked unnaturally so. It looked as if it had been drained of its colour some years ago after receiving some terrible news, and he had never properly recovered from the shock. His eyes were pale with exhaustion, even more than his daughter's. He was not aging well, as wrinkles were already beginning to form around his eyes and mouth.

"Hello." He said finally. "I see you've already met my daughter."

"My name's Genevieve!" the little girl piped up.

"Yes, Genny, we know. My name is Henri Boufard. Genevieve has been taking care of you for the past three days while you were sick. Yes, a little girl has been tending to you. She's good at nurses' work, too. She's a natural . . ."

"But I don't work on Sundays or Bank Holidays."

"Genny, _ma chere_, could you step out for I minute while me and . . ." his voice trailed off there was a moment of awkward silence again, until the man on the bed realized he was being addressed. He hesitated, then spoke.

"Erik. Just Erik."

"Yes. Erik and I would like to speak to each other. You run along, there's some fresh bread on the table in the kitchen, if you'd like to have a snack." Genevieve gave Erik one last look, then rushed out of the room and out of sight. The two men sat there for a minute, Erik staring at Henri, Henri staring at the floor. Finally, Erik broke the silence.

"Why did you take me in?"

Henri looked up. "I heard yelling in the opera house. I came in and saw you, and took you here, to my home. I couldn't just leave you there, you know. My older daughter was in the building when the chandelier fell. She burnt her leg badly, and I had been at the hospital visiting her. When I was walking home, I heard you. Why did they leave you behind?"

_He has no idea who I am._ Erik was unsure whether to be glad or not. He also was unsure of how to answer his question. He came up with the only answer that seemed convincing. "I was trapped under my seat and they didn't see me. I managed to pull myself out eventually. I assume that's when you found me."

Henri nodded slowly. "You're lucky. My daughter's fiancée was killed in the fire. They had been in the front row." He sighed. "I suppose I should let you rest." The man stood up and walked to the door. "If you need anything, just call Genevieve. I should go visit Madeline again, and see if she's ready to come home." He closed the door behind him.

Erik lay there, and a new emotion, one he had not felt since the night he ran away from his mother, wrapped itself around his brain. _"Almost killed" . . . _who knows how many people had died because of him?

_With a new place comes a new feeling._


	3. The Boufard family

**Disclaimer:** I don't even own a copy of the soundtrack.

**Hello all. First of all, WHERE ARE THE REVIEWERS! I got one review for the last chapter, and it was from a friend I know personally. I CANNOT BEGIN TO TELL YOU HOW DISCOURAGING THAT IS! It's a writer's worst nightmare. I want to know what you guys think about my work, and I can't improve if no one tells me something is wrong. So REVIEW! Or I will have to punish you. Ha ha ha joke. But seriously, it would work wonders on my self-esteem.**

**Second of all, I'm sorry if I can't update as quickly as I would like for the next little while, as the choir I'm in is staging an opera that will premiere in June (me and my friend have so many POTO-related inside jokes about it, it's not funny. Well, it is funny, since it's a joke, but I mean like we have so many its insane. Like the Phantom. Hahaha . . . oh, forget it), and we are practicing like a chorus possessed. Also, I know I have problems getting inside Erik's head and making it sound real, but I've never been a genius, I would know what it's like. So don't murder me.**

**Oh, I should clear something up. As you all know, this is Kay/2004 movie based. When I say that, I mean that I follow Kay's story up to the point where he is with the gypsies. Then I switch over to the movie. Erik's face is only half disfigured. I'm sorry if this is disappointing for anyone for any reason, but the movie is what first introduced me to the story of the Phantom, and it is the version I am most comfortable with. I'll be keeping some elements of Kay though, for example Erik is still a walking talking apothecary.**

**I'm also sorry this note is so long.**

**Chapter 3:** The Boufard family

On his third day in the Boufard household, Erik was strong enough to leave his bed and walk around the house. For the first time of his life, he awoke at eleven o'clock. _I don't think I have ever slept that long._ He thought. He searched his room trying to locate a shirt. After fifteen minutes of looking, it became quite clear he was going to have to venture out of the paneled sanctuary to find clothes.

He slipped out the door and into a short hall. There were two other closed doors to his right. He walked soundlessly as always and silently opened one. Even as he walked, pain seared in his chest from the three broken ribs and the long cut from the broken wood, but it was nothing he hadn't felt before.

The room was obviously belonging to Henri. It was a humble little place, with a double bed, a chest of drawers and a bookshelf. Erik noticed a picture frame on the chest of drawers and went for a closer look. It held a little pencil sketch of a woman he assumed was Mme. Boufard. She was sitting in a wooden chair, looking lovingly but almost sadly at an infant in her arms. It was so well drawn, so simple yet full of emotion, it reminded Erik of some of his own art. _But they must all have been destroyed by now._

A pang of sorrow struck him, and he looked away from the drawing and quickly snatched a shirt and a clean pair of pants from a drawer. A he passed by the bookshelf, a copy of _The complete works of Edgar Allan Poe _seemed to vanish on its own accord. It would be something to amuse himself with anyway. Who knew how long he would be here? And it would be difficult to creep around the house unnoticed, even for him, because there was child living there. He remembered for his own childhood, when he had still lived with his mother in her house. He had learned all the hiding places in that old place, so he could simply disappear when anything was wrong. It was quite possible the little girl had done the same.

After changing his clothes in the guest room he had been staying in for the past few nights, Erik wandered out again, wishing to explore the house. He walked back into Henri's room. He avoided looking at the pencil sketch for fear it would allow too many memories to surface on the pond of his mind. He made his way over to the window and observed the street below through a gap between the curtains.

He was on the second storey of a small building, looking out at a middle-class area. Children played in the road. Women with bags of shopping hurried on their way. Horse-drawn wagons trotted along as the driver called out at two boys to get out of the way. _Everything looks so peaceful._ Erik thought to himself as he stared stolidly at a happy couple who were taking a walk across the road._ As if nothing ever happened . . ._

Cursing at himself for being jealous, he turned away and began to search for Henri. Only as he watched a man come out of the bakery down the street with a fresh loaf of bread did he realize he had barely eaten in five days.

Erik was struck by curiosity again once he saw the half-open door to his right. he peered in, telling himself he was only looking to see if Henri was inside.

It was a messy place, in contrast to the well-kept room next-door. The two single beds were unmade, and paper and books were thrown all over the bare wooden floor. It was strangely dark in the room, as the only small window was covered with a dark curtain. He took a step toward the middle of the room and picked up one of the papers on the ground. Turning it over, Erik could tell it was a drawing by the same artist who drew the picture in Henri's bedroom. This sketch depicted a girl who was quite obviously Genevieve. He round little face and almond-shaped eyes showed that the girl seemed to be angry and sad; almost to the point she looked older. It bore a startling likeness to the real girl and Erik found he could not tear his own eyes away from her dark gaze. It was like the artist had captured a bit of the subject's essence and had magiced it into the pencil.

He moved his head, but no matter what he did, the pencil-Genevieve's eyes followed him, never breaking contact. It disturbed him. It was as if the sketch was really an evil spirit of some sort, trying to get into his mind and drive him past the point of sanity. A few minutes of looking at it was torture, but he could not move away . . . those eyes paralyzed him . . .

Finally, he tore the paper in half and fled the bedroom like a prey from a predator. Erik stood outside the door, catching his breath. He wondered who drew with such penetrating emotion. That room was clearly Genevieve's and that other girl, Madeline's. It was disturbing, the thought of a child creating something so terribly moving.

_But what about the thing I made when I was young?_

He tried to shake the idea from his head. He had to find Henri. Yes. That's what he had to do. Find Henri.

He walked down the hall and into a little kitchen. It was empty. He saw a stair case in the corner of the room. It lead to another door.

Past that door, the sat a quaint little shop that took up the whole of the ground floor. It was a shoemaker's shop. The walls were lined with shelves of footwear of all kinds. In the center of the room, Henri was hunched over his work, back on to Erik. Erik coughed. The other man jumped and turned around in his chair. He put his hand on his heart and took a few deep breaths.

"Sweet mercy, Erik, you're quiet. I never even heard the door close. Is there something you need?"

Erik stood there silently. His mind raced. It had been so long since he had asked anyone for anything, he found he did not know how. There was an awkward moment and then Erik finally spoke. Unfortunately, his speech was disjointed, and he cursed himself in his mind for sounding so stupid.

"I . . . it has been a while since I last . . . well, five days . . . I hate to interrupt your work but . . . I just felt a bit . . . well . . . "peckish""

"Oh!" Henri slammed his palm against his forehead "I'm sorry! What a terrible host I am, letting my guests grow hungry. You must be absolutely famished. Here, follow me, I'll fix some lunch for us both."

Henri put a "closed" sign on the door of the shop and lead Erik up to the apartment again.

"Do you like beef stew?" Henri searched through the cupboards frantically. "It's a bit cold, but it's the only thing I have. It's left over from dinner last night. I could warm it up in the oven for a minute or two." After the meal was heated up, he set two bowls on the table and poured them both some of the steaming stew. The men settled down to eat.

A few minutes of silence was shared, until Erik had the courage to ask a question.

"Where is Genevieve?"

"At school. She would be home for some time yet because after school she's going a friend's house to play."

"How is your other daughter?"

"Still in the hospital, I'm afraid." The man sighed. "She is not faring well. Her foot was very badly injured in the accident at the opera, and it is not healing properly." Erik stiffened at the mention of his old home. Henri looked up. "Erik? May I ask you about your face? I covered it once I brought you home. I wasn't sure what the story was behind it. I knew I wasn't a burn from a fire."

Erik grunted.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to offend." Henri said quickly. "Well, I should be getting back to work. If you need anything, just come and ask me. Feel free to read any of the books in my bedroom. I'll be back up in a few hours." The man hurried down the stairs.

As soon as he heard the door slam, Erik left his bowl half-full and marched to his bedroom. _How dare he! _He thought angrily. _That is information he does not need to know._ He threw himself onto the bed in the guest room.

_Why did I get up today?_


	4. Madeline

**You know what I realized? I LOVE RC fluff! Seriously, it's amazing. I am a HUGE RC shipper for two reasons: **

**I don't feel Christine was mentally mature enough to be with Erik.**

**You can't write fluff about Erik.**

**Erik: I can be fluffy if I want to! Me: If you want to think that, dear coughnoyoucantcough. Erik: grumble**

**But really folks, what would Erik have done with her? He could go outside, anyway. And if the opera went under and was demolished, what would they do then? Think about it. **

**Also, very soon a will post a one-shot about Raoul and Christine. It will be fluffy. Very, very fluffy . . . So thank your lucky stars this story is going to be more angst. This chapter ends with a cliffhanger. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**

**And as of this chapter (though this my sound sort of childish I feel it necessary), I expect at least three reviews, or I shall have to punish you crazed laughter**

Chapter 4: Madeline

The Boufard household was simple, cozy, and friendly. In short, it was like nothing Erik had ever experienced before. Even though it was plain, he never got bored.

That same day when Henri inquired Erik about his face, the musician made a wonderful discovery. At dinner that night, he learned that Genevieve had the unexplainable habit of kicking the chair leg at regular intervals while she ate. Henri called it annoying. Erik called it a beat.

As they sat around the table with steaming plates of chicken, they did not speak. After five minutes of silence, Genevieve started to kick.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

At first the men both ignored it, but suddenly Erik's mind instinctively split the thumps into measures, one on beat one and one on beat three. On the second beat, he tapped his fork against his plate. It grew from there, as he added other taps, thumps from his own feet, and little hummed notes. He was soon lost in a miniature symphony; his thoughts were engulfed in music.

He did not know how long he had been playing, but when he was done he opened his eyes.

Father and daughter were both staring at him.

There was a moment were no one spoke, and then Genevieve broke out in enthusiastic applause. Henri still stared at him.

♪ ♪ ♪

Erik played his strange music at breakfast the next morning. He also showed them his talent for magic. They were basic tricks, what he showed them, but they were still fascinated. Genevieve was hurried out the door despite her complaints that school was boring and that she wanted to stay home with their guest.

Once Henri disappeared down the stairs to his workplace, Erik searched for something to amuse himself with. He read for most of the day. Genevieve came home from school at the same Henri finished his work and the two arrived at the upstairs apartment together. Though that evening Henri had not stayed long. He explained to them in a rushed and embarrassed voice that he could no longer support Madeline's care at the hospital without going completely broke in a matter of days so he was going to bring her home.

Erik enchanted Genevieve with his magic until they heard the door at the bottom of the stairs slam. The little girl jumped up and rushed to the top stair.

"Madeline! You're home!"

Seconds later, Henri appeared, supporting his oldest daughter on his arm. Erik could see that her right foot and shin were wrapped in thick gauze bandaging. Her blond hair was unkempt and her face had an expression of tired irritation. Her father helped her into one of the old armchairs in the corner of the room and she sank into it gratefully. She took a few deep breaths, her exhausted grey eyes never leaving the floor.

Genevieve practically ran in circles with excitement. "I missed you, Maddi! You were gone six whole days. But I didn't have much time to think about you though, because Erik was here and he was really sick so I had to take care of him. Papa found him alone in the opera house after the fire was out."

"Erik?" Madeline lifted her gaze from the floor. As soon as she saw the strange man in front of her, she stood up, turned on her hell, and limped awkwardly to her room and slammed the door.

"What was _that?_" Genevieve asked.

"I'm sure she's just had a hard day." Henri said quickly. "I cannot blame her for being temperamental. This is not an easy time for any of us, especially her. What with her injury and Armand's death and now she comes home and there's an unfamiliar man . . ." he threw his hands up in the air as a sign of helplessness. "I should start making dinner." he sighed. With that, he turned and began to rummage through the cupboards.

Again, there was speaking that night at dinner. Genevieve didn't even kick her chair. They all ate silently, except for Madeline, who did not even eat. She just stirred the broth in her bowl with her spoon.

Erik was beginning to believe every meal was going to be like this, until Henri finally spoke.

"Maddi . . . do you know when Armand's funeral will be?" he asked her gently, like a soldier handling an explosive that may go off at any time.

"They don't have funerals for the living." She said without any emotion in her voice. Henri looked at her, confused.

"You told me he was dead."

"I didn't want to tell you the truth."

There was a moment where things were silent again. Henri's gentle confused sorrowful anger could be felt by everyone. Henri had a way with his emotions, were no matter what he felt, he was always nurturing and soft.

"Armand isn't going to marry me anymore." She said simply "His face was so badly burned in the fire, he told me before he left the hospital that I didn't deserve the horror of looking at him for the rest of my life. Then he gave me the ring and left."

The others stared at her in shocked surprise. She looked at her bowl like she had before, like nothing had happened.

"But surly . . ." Henri tried to put his thoughts into words ". . . I thought Armand more sensible . . ."

Madeline shrugged.

"You didn't love him, did you?"

Genevieve and her father gasped at Erik's daring comment. Madeline looked up then, anger burning in her eyes. She stood, her fists clenched by her side.

"You bastard!" she shouted "Armand was a rich nobleman. He knew more about love than anyone else in this bloody district!"

"You did not answer my question, mademoiselle." Erik rose to his feet and stood across the table from her. His voice was calm. "He loved you, but did you love him?" her face went red with fury, and she limped around the table and stood right in front of him.

"You don't think a woman can love a man because that's what happened to you!" she screamed. Then, Erik realized what was really happening; Since Madeline had been at _Don Juan Triumphant!_, she had seen one of the singers unmasked to reveal a terrible disfigurement. Then a mysterious man with a hidden face who was found in the opera ruins showed up at her house. She had put two and two together.

He took a step back, trying to keep his temper from exploding out of his mouth like a volcano. "Mademoiselle, I am not admitting to any of your claims, but I fear your assumption is incorrect. I simply do not believe you felt any deep affection to that man because-"

"Oh, SHUT UP!" she screamed at him.

"Maddi," Henri said "Please, do not-"

"YOU TOO!" she turned back to Erik and addressed him again. "Haven't you done enough? Why can't you leave me be? My foot, Armand's face . . ." he tried to say something, but she stopped him. "I know why! It's because of _this!_"

With that, Madeline threw herself at Erik. He tried to stop her, but before he could push her back, her fingers curled around his makeshift mask, and it fell away from his face.

He heard Genevieve give a shriek of fright, and Henri saying something to his eldest daughter, but his hands were already clutching at his face, trying in vain to hide what they already saw.

And suddenly, there was a weight on him again, something stronger than he was, and he was pushed back, back . . . and lost his balance . . . and fell . . .

It was painful, he knew that, but otherwise, he felt strangely numb. Then he hit the ground.

His mind exploded into a red maelstrom of agony, and he thought for a brief moment he heard a voice call "You're right. I never loved him" just before he was enveloped in the merciful shadows of forced, dreamless sleep.


	5. Memories

**Hi all. Forgot my disclaimer last time (again), so here you go:**

**Disclaimer: **your mom owns POTO. Oh burn.

**That was surprisingly fun. Oh yeah and Erik will say a mild French curse word in this chapter, just so you know. Sigh, I can't seem to write a story without hurting any of my characters! Look at this: I break three of Erik's ribs and cut him open, and now I throw him down the stairs! I need to work on that. Oh well. Thank you to my glorious reviewers! The following people made my day:**

**GerrysJackie: I guess my disclaimer made you take back the "mature" thing (laughs) . . . I may not be able to update regularly, but around once a week, twice if you're lucky. Or if I'm lucky, depending on how you look at it.**

**QueenBoudicca: I agree, he needs love. And I mean, who couldn't love him, with a chest like his (insert girly giggle here)?**

**theNightEnchantress: Thanks for the review! If I were Christine, I would go with Raoul because he has the best hair in the world (not just for that reason though). Some people think it make him look like a pansy (or a "fop"), but I think it's kind of hot, actually. Or as my good friend would say – "He is such a fox!"**

**HPFanatic2478: when aren't you confused? Way to reveal my name to everyone! Oh well. Just don't use my last name/province or I shall have to punish you . . .**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: I am SO sorry I was so long to update, but I was out of town and didn't have a computer nearby. I made sure this chapter was longer than the others just for you guys! Aren't I nice (laughs)! Some of this is from Madeline's POV, and the big block of stuff in italics is a flashback.**

**Review my angels of reading!**

Chapter 5: Memories

The heavy black fog slowly lifted. It took him a while to notice it was gone, though, for it was night when he finally dared to try and wake up completely. He moved from an uncomfortable heap on the floor to a crouching position. He almost managed to stand up, but he became dizzy and slumped down again. When he tried to regain his balance, soar bile filled his throat.

"_Tabarnac!_" he swore after his stomach was completely empty. His head was throbbing and his legs weren't faring much better. He could see that familiar crimson though his pant leg. He also realized his forehead was bleeding, too. He felt groggy and tired and sore. He lay there on the floor for a while. After a few minutes he felt a bit better, so he tried moving again. He felt dizzy after the slightest effort, so he took a long time to get in a crawling position.

Carefully, he moved his hand across the floor. It was dark so he couldn't use his eyes to guide him. Soon, it came in contact with something hard. He slid his hand up its side and discovered it was only about the height of his hand, then it lead to a platform, and so on. _I must be at the bottom of the stairs._

He began his painstaking climb up to the apartment. The staircase seemed so much bigger now than it had before. His whole body hurt, and he was tempted to lie down and sleep once again.

Finally, he was up and over the seventeenth step. He curled up in a ball again and listened to his own ragged breathing. His eyes flicked to the window. The moon was full outside. It was nighttime. That's why it was dark. He didn't hear any other noises in the house. It was all so familiar . . . every night he would crawl around and think about the people who slept untroubled in their beds, blissfully unaware of his pain . . .

He didn't know how he did it, but after a time he somehow managed to drag himself to the guest room. He pulled himself up on top of the blanket mountain and let sleep over take his tired body.

It didn't last long. The sun jumped through the window and pried his eyelids open. He stared at the wall. He studied the woods grain. It seemed to go on, deeper and deeper into an eternity of soft brown shapes. Then anger filled him. At first he was angry at the wood grain for being so confusing and complicated. His was tired and hurt; the last thing he needed was another impossible puzzle to solve. Then he was mad at himself for thinking something childish and foolish. Then he remembered why he was really angry: it was _their _fault. _They _pushed him. _They _bought the house and its stupid stairs. _They _hadn't even made an effort to help him after he fell. He must have been lying there for hours! _They _had known he had fallen, yet _they _hadn't even sat there until he woke up. He hated _them_! _They_ were idiotic carefree imbeciles! _That man _was perhaps the stupidest of them all; _he_ was so sad and kind and _he _was TOO DAMN SYMPATHETIC! Anyone who had any brains in their skulls at all would have left the broken murderer to die on his own in the ruins of the opera house!

Then he cried.

He didn't even know why he was crying at first. After a few minutes he decided he was sad for _them_. There was no wife in _their _family, so chances were she had died. He was also sad for himself. Was he that blind? How could he not see that he was not angry at _them _at all? He was so grateful for them. Henri could have left him to die, but he didn't. He had taken him home to his prodigy of a daughter and she had cured him.

He ran out of tears and lay there on the bed. He still needed rest. He hurt from crying, and his whole body ached from the movement sobbing required. He could see blood from his forehead had stained the sheets.

A few minutes passed, and he heard footsteps by the door.

"Erik?"

No response.

"Erik . . . Genevieve and I are going to mass." Henri's voice was addressing him, but he pretended he couldn't hear. "We'll be back in two hours."

And then they left.

---

As soon as she heard the door of the shop slam, Madeline took the paper and pencil from her bedside table and hobbled into the hall. She came to Erik's room. The door was wide open, so she just walked right in and sat in the chair by the bed. He lay there, motionless, with his back to her. She had no idea whether he was awake or asleep. He wasn't showing any signs of knowing she was there. She wouldn't be surprised if he was unconscious. She could see blood on the pillows and on the sheets under his legs. He was in a perfect position to draw. She put her pencil to the paper and began to sketch.

She knew she should be afraid, but she wasn't.

It was not a new sensation, this lack of obvious emotion. It was a strange trait of Madeline's, to feel suddenly calm when others would be panicking or crying. It had been a common thing with her mother, too. Her mother had also had the habit of doing incredibly unladylike things in public, such as yelling at taxi drivers.

Only after Genevieve had been born did Henri's wife begun to calm. But it had not been a healthy sort of calm. It had been a difficult birth, and as the days went by her health had begun to deteriorate. Henri at first said it was only the normal pains a mother had after labor, and they would fade soon enough. But he had to stop saying that, for anyone could see that something was not right. She had trouble sleeping, and could barely eat. She was restless, only going to bed to get up again and pace the hallway for hours before sitting in the kitchen and gazing out the window. She hardly spoke, only the occasional soft lullaby for Genevieve. Sometimes, too, she would mutter things to Henri or the air in front of her, always something about a pain she felt inside of her.

After two weeks, her mother finally fell asleep. . .

_Madeline gently laid her hand on her father's arm. He jumped at her touch._

"_Papa, I've made dinner. Please, can't you leave Maman and eat with me? Please?"_

"_I can't, Madeline. I have to watch you're mother. She may need something." This made the girl desperate._

"_But Papa, you haven't eaten in almost a week!"_

"_Go eat alone, I'll be fine."_

_A few minutes later she returned. "Papa, Genevieve is crying. I don't know what's wrong. Nothing I try works. She's been doing this for a long time. I'm worried."_

"_Bring her here. I'll wake your mother. She'll help." His daughter ran off and returned again, this time carrying a small wailing bundle. The little thing had used up all its tears and was now making pitiful screams. Madeline stepped across the room to stand by her father. Henri leaned forward and shook his wife's shoulder gently. "Opale. The baby is crying again."_

_The woman didn't move, so he shook her a bit harder. "Please Opale, we need you." Silence again. Henri's voice was tired and small. "I need you."_

"_Papa . . . I –"_

"_Opale!" his hoarse yelling surprised Madeline. It was not like him. He suddenly sounded scared "Please! I need you! Opale, don't you understand. I'll DIE without you! Don't leave me alone. Never leave me!"_

_Silence showed itself again. Henri and his daughters held their breaths, even the baby, though perhaps that was only because she was utterly exhausted._

_Henri then knew that one of his greatest fears had become a reality._

_He put his arms out, and Madeline passed him the baby. He hugged the child to his chest. Fresh tears left their wet trails down his face as he faced the bitter truth. Madeline, though, felt relieved. Not because she was happy about her mother's death, but because, now she knew Henri would have to leave the place in his mind that he had build from false hopes and useless prayers and return to the world of life. He knew now he held in his hands a new life that he had to tend to, and another young one was at his side. _

She had been but nine years old.

But still, she had known that her mother would never wake up before her father had. A full grown man had not accepted the idea until his daughter showed him that other people were still living around him. Madeline had not cried about the loss, despite the fact that she had been close to her mother. She had felt strange and angry at herself for being so out of place when everyone around her made it seem so obvious that they were mourning. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not be like them.

She noticed she had finished her drawing. Standing up carefully so not to wake Erik, Madeline made her way to the door.

She was halfway down the hall when her bad leg gave out. Her body slammed against the floor and her breath was knocked out of her. She lay there, shocked and numb, for a few minutes before becoming aware of the screaming pain in her foot. It was worse than it had been in days; it was as if she had burnt it all over again. Too much weight had been put on it at one time. She sucked in air and tried to drag herself to her bedroom. She barely moved before she decided it was hopeless. She would have to stay here on the floor until her family came back . . .

There was a shuffling sound and she felt a hand on her leg. She turned her neck around frantically trying to see who was there. Erik was kneeling by her feet and was unwinding the bandages on her shin.

"What are you doing?" Madeline tried to say, but her voice was caught in her throat. She took a few breaths and asked him again. This time he heard.

"I'm curious as to how much damage the fire has actually done."

She was surprised at how gentle his hands were. They were better than the doctors' at the hospital, anyway.

He finished unwrapping her leg and he propped her foot up on his lap. Madeline looked down and immediately felt ill. Her skin had taken on an appearance not far from that of melted wax. It was swollen and red, with some black and white flesh that was now dead. The twisted and sickening limb was attached to her, and she was all too aware of it.

He looked at it from various angles, and then set it back on the floor again. "I'll be back in a moment. Do not attempt to move again."

Erik limped back into his room and reappeared with a mug in his hand. He set it down on the floor and picked up Madeline's foot again. He dipped his fingers in its sloshing contents and was about to touch her leg.

"What's that?" the young woman demanded.

He almost smiled. "Oh, I was alone for a while . . . your family has the most useful supplies in the kitchen, did you know that?"

Madeline's first impulse was to get up and try to get away from Erik, but because of her injury she had to settle with giving him suspicious looks. She braced herself for a new wave of pain, but it never came.

Instead, as soon as the strange liquid touched her burning skin she felt instant relief.

She looked up at the man in surprise, but he was looking at his hands. He was rubbing the lotion into her leg and foot gently. She tried not to make herself comfortable. Erik was a murderer, she had seen it. She remembered the frantic crowds as they climbed over the seats and each other. It was the human instinct, the very basis of life: the want and need to survive. When it came to that point people would do anything to save themselves. If they had to, some would even leave their loved ones if it meant they would see another day. Madeline herself had watched this from under a burnt velvet chair. She had assumed she was doomed, and had felt helpless. She had been like a puppy that was hiding from an abusive owner. Then, Armand had come and pulled her out from her from the trap she was ensnared in. he had run, half-dragging her behind him, trying to avoid being trampled. Someone had pushed him and the couple had been separated. Madeline did not know what had happened after that, but suddenly she was with a man from the fire brigade and was telling him that her fiancée was still in the building as he led her from the smoldering ruins of the theatre.

She let her eyes wander to the right side of his face. Funny, it didn't seem nearly as bad as it had been, not now that he was acting like any other human . . .

---

Erik Looked up and saw that Madeline had drifted off to sleep. He sighed. He was suddenly glad that he had been so bored three days ago. It had given him some time to work on his hobbies, including medicine. The pain reliever he had made was simple and effective. It would last for some time if Madeline didn't stress her foot like that again. The burn had been serious, worse than he had expected, but he could make salves and other antidotes that would help it heal faster.

He knew he could not leave her on the floor; Henri would have a heart attack if he came home to a scene like this. Erik began to dress the burn again. When he was done, he carefully lifted the girl in his arms and carried her in to her bedroom.

As he laid her on the bed, a memory leaped into his mind's eye. He remembered when another girl, around the same age as Madeline, had lost consciousness in his presence and he had carried her off to bed . . .

He became furious with himself for thinking about Christine. He felt nothing for this woman! Nothing!

_Nothing . . ._


	6. A Child's Understanding

**Disclaimer:** Oh yes. I own it. Sure. Just like how La Carlotta can carry a tune.

**Hi all. Everyone seemed to really like the last chapter, so here's another. This one is shorter, though. Sorry. At first it was just a little thing I wrote for myself, like a character exploration, but I felt like I had to post it in the end. It has too much important stuff in it not to. It's from Henri's point of view. It just talks about how he feels and the like.**

**This chapter is dedicated to our dear friends the Cook family, though they'll probably never read it. **

**Enjoy and review!**

Chapter 6: A Child's Understanding

Henri and his daughter joined the usual crush of people as they exited the cathedral. They walked wordlessly onto the busy street. Henri felt strange and sad and had no idea why. He felt older. It was as if last night events had aged him for some reason. He had not done anything after Madeline pushed Erik down the stairs. She had stormed off to her room again. Henri and Genevieve had cleaned the table and put away the dishes as always and then went to bed as if nothing had happened.

But that night he had not slept at all. He realized that if Madeline's accusations were true, Erik was an insane murderer. An insane murderer was lying at the foot of their stairway, blocking their only way of getting out of the house safely. He had been so relieved when he saw that Erik had crawled back to the guest bedroom and appeared to be quite unconscious.

"Papa?" the child's voice interrupted Henri's thoughts. She had barely spoken at all that morning.

"What is it, _mon ange_?"

Genevieve sighed. "I feel dreadfully guilty. I left Erik without tending to him. Did you see all that blood on the floor?" Henri looked down at his little daughter and smiled. Though she could be very excitable at times, She had a kind heart and the right talents.

"Oh, Genny. Erik is a strong man, you know that. You saw how fast he recovered last time. Perhaps it's best if he sleeps for a while anyway. We're almost home. You can help him as soon as we get there."

Immediately after they walked up the stairs and into the kitchen, Erik appeared in the doorframe that led to the hallway. He was leaning against it for support. His mask was once again on his face, but it was sufficiently redder than before. Genevieve ran off to get her supplies as Henri helped the other man to a chair. When Genevieve returned, her father left the two alone and went to find Madeline.

She was lying on the bed in her room. She was clearly in a deep sleep. Her face bore a strange expression of bliss. _That's odd, _thought Henri _she seemed so angry last night. Oh well, at least she hasn't gotten herself into anymore trouble. _

He stared at his daughter and was once again blown away by her striking resemblance to his late wife. Her hair, her nose, her basic body shape . . . everything was the same . . . except for her eyes. Henri knew that under her closed lids she had stormy grey eyes. He could remember that Opale's eyes had been a deep blue, almost purple.

"_Mon bijou . . ._" he murmured to himself.

He turned quickly and left the room, not wanting to remember any more. Madeline reminder him of her so much.

Opale and Henri had been an unlikely couple at first. Him, with his calm and gentle personality, and her with her fiery temper and rebellious attitude. They both had little traits that were the same, though. A love of animals and children, for one. They were both hard workers, too. And of course, they both loved to love each other.

They had spent eight years of happiness together with their beautiful little daughter. Then they had discovered there was to be another child, and the excitement had mounted. Then he was happy for a few days, because there was another little one in his life. All the months of preparation had been rewarded with a healthy baby girl. Everything seemed good.

Then his world was shattered.

Henri had been so lost in thoughts as he walked down the hall he almost fell when he slipped on a piece of paper on the ground. He bent down and picked it up when he regained his balance. Curious, he flipped it over. It was a perfect sketch of a man (he guessed it was Erik) lying on a bed. He was not surprised. Madeline loved to draw. She drew everything. It was not the first time he had almost fell like that. A few years ago he had done the same thing and had hurt his tailbone. It was another thing Opale and Madeline had in common; they had both been artists, though Opale had preferred painting.

After he returned the drawing to the girls' bedroom, he once again made his way to the kitchen. And this time it was not anything on the floor that stopped him. He was halfway down the hall when he heard Erik and Genevieve talking.

"Erik, may I ask you a question."

"You just did. And nothing stopped you that time." There was a hesitant silence for a moment, and then Genevieve spoke again.

"Why did Papa have to pull you out of the rubble? Like, I mean, why didn't anyone else come looking for you, like what Armand did for my sister?"

"I've done some horrible things to people, Genevieve."

"So? I've done lots of bad things. I stole an apple once, and I broke a plate last month. Madeline's done stuff like that too. But Papa still loves both of us. Don't you have any family?"

"No Genevieve, you don't understand. Breaking dishes and stealing a snack aren't what I mean by horrible things. I mean terrible, terrible sins."

"Terrible sins? Like what?"

There was a hesitant silence, and Erik sighed. "I mean like murder, Genevieve." He said in a small voice. "I've killed people."

"Papa was really mad at me once a few years ago, I can't remember why. He yelled at me. He said it was my fault my mother was dead. He said I killed her."

Henri gasped. He had hoped she had forgotten about that. But she said it so casually . . . like she understood that it wasn't true. Like she knew he had been just angry for a day. He hadn't sold anything in his shop for two days, and that night he had come upstairs to find some drunkard had tossed a pebble at the window and shattered it. She had tried to clean up the glass with her bare hands; he had just begun to scream like a singing kettle.

"How old are you, Genevieve?"

"Nine, monsieur. Now, if you'll excuse me. I think I should go mop. Your puke is still sitting there on the floor. I can smell it from here."

As soon as she left the room, Erik began to limp back to his room. He stopped when he saw Henri staring at him with surprise.

"You heard?"

"Murder?" the father breathed. "You've got blood on your hands, Erik. Sweet mercy, I had no idea . . . you must go confess! It's still Sunday, someone will be there for sure. Oh Lord, Erik . . . murder!"

Erik snorted. "With my face, they won't even let me in the church. In their opinion, it's alright if I burn in Hell. They won't want something this ugly in paradise. Paradise has to be perfect and beautiful. It's no place for a disfigured murderer."

And then he went to bed.


	7. Realization

**Disclaimer:** "Did you write the book?" you ask. "Would I kill Erik?" I reply

**Hi all. I can now say I am the proud owner of an MP3 player that has both the RENT and the Phantom of the Opera soundtracks. RENT is a Broadway recording, and PotO is the movie recording. Lots of fun. I think I have both of them completely memorized now. I can even do voices! (laughs like Maureen)**

**I am also deliriously happy about how the last two chapters went. I think they were some of my best writing! I still think the "masterpiece" of all my work has to be either _The Smoothbeautiful Rebellion_ or _Of Forests and Courage_. They're both kinda weird, but I am very happy about them. Perhaps I shall post them on FictionPress one day?**

**And I finished _Phantom _the other day.**

**What can I say . . .?**

**DEFFINATLY ON MY FAVS LIST!**

**1 last thing: The opera I'm in premiered last night! My role? Chorus member #21! Oh yeah! I almost fainted from the heat of the stage lights, but I made in through and the whole thing was SUPERBLY AWESOME! Wish me luck for the other performances! (like, let's hope I don't collapse)**

Chapter 6: Realization

Erik woke again to a sound he hadn't heard in over a week.

Someone was singing.

Life in the Boufard household had continued in its usual way since Erik had been thrown down the stairs two nights ago. The only difference was that Madeline had been sufficiently quieter than she had on the first day. In fact, Erik couldn't actually recall her saying anything at all. She cooked, cleaned, drew, read, and endured the pain in her leg without complaint. She barely ate, though, and Erik knew this was making Henri quite distressed.

"You have to eat, Maddi!" he had said at dinner. "You've been very out-of-character lately. Do you feel ill?" The girl shrugged. Henri shook his head. "I hate to nag you, but you haven't touched your food since you came home." He lowered his voice. "Does this have anything to do with Armand." No response from Madeline. She stared at her father, expressionless.

"I do not wish to intrude on family matters," Erik had said coolly "But I must remind you of the fact that you said yourself the night of the . . . "incident" . . . that you felt no feelings for the man. You must not dwell on his rejection, if that is the problem in question."

Madeline's face turned red. She got up and limped to her room, not looking at anyone at the table.

Now, the man's head was filling with the thing he loved the most. _Music . . ._

He slowly got out of bed and walked out of the room. Whoever's voice this was, he had to find the source. It was beautiful; the pitch, the annunciation, the control . . . it was all almost perfect.

Erik wandered down the hall in a trance. The music almost intoxicated him. He turned finally and looked into the room eager to see this unseen prima donna, this unknown talent, this living angel of music. His eyes darted hungrily around the room and settled on its only occupant.

Madeline was staring absently out the window and singing a sad little song.

He came up behind her. She heard his footsteps and turned around to stare at him with embarrassed shock. "Erik! Did you hear all of that? What are you –?"

She never finished her sentence. Before she knew it, Erik had lifted her off the floor, hugged her close, and was kissing her. Her eyes were wide open with surprise. She couldn't pull away; he was holding her too tightly. She looked around desperately to find some escape route from this awkward intimacy, but there was none. She looked at his face in scared hope, but he didn't notice. Erik's eyes were closed. For a moment, she fought, but then she felt strangely happy. She almost began to enjoy herself. Her eyelids were getting a bit heavy. Perhaps she should close them for a second, just to ease the discomfort . . .

Then their lips were separated and she was spinning around. He had picked her up and was swinging her in a circle. She let out a cry of surprise. "Erik! What the hell –"

"That was spectacular." his voice was shaking when he put her down again. "Oh, what you could be like with tutoring! You would be the talk of Paris! The opera would pay to have you in their cast. I could teach you, I could –"

"Erik!" Madeline interrupted him. "What the hell are you talking about? I was singing to myself. That's all. It was a song I learned in school. It was nothing. And suddenly you're here, being highly romantic and rambling off nonsense about my voice!"

A deep blush was crawling up the man's neck and into his cheeks. He turned his face and let go of her. "I'm sorry . . . I don't know what came over me. I just . . . I haven't heard anything like that since . . . "he gulped "since Christine . . ." he then fled the room as fast as his injured legs would allow.

Madeline blinked and turned back to the window. "He heard all of it."

---

Erik slammed the door behind him and stood in the middle of the guest room. He had kissed her . . . he had kissed her.

_I promised myself I would never do that again. She's seen my face. She knows why I must hide. She hates me. But I kiss her anyway!_

Erik turned quickly and slammed his head into the wall in anger. "Damn me! Damn it all!" he hit his head again. And again . . . and again . . .

After some time, he felt dizzy, and he stumbled and lay down on the bed. His head was throbbing, but he figured he deserved it. He deserved everything bad that had ever happened to him. But then he realized that wasn't true. Some things weren't his fault. Some things he had done simply for pure self-defense. But none of it would have happened if it weren't for his face . . .

Erik's hand rose up to the edge of the washcloth that covered his disfigurement. Slowly, he allowed himself to pull at the string around his head and pull the mask off his head completely. He let his figures wander over the left side of his face. The skin was smooth, flawless, and in truth, highly attractive. He closed his eyes as his fingers move to the left to touch all the abnormal ridges and dips that had ruined his life. Ever since birth people had hated him for something he could never have prevented. It was not his fault he was born looking like this. No one had meant for him to be born looking like part of his face had been turned inside-out. But it had still happened. And people hated him for it.

Sighing, he slid his hand away from his face and replaced his mask. He sat there thinking about Madeline's voice. It had been good, but not perfect. Erik could make it perfect. He could easily seduce the young woman, hypnotize he and make he obey him. It would be just like it used to be. She would be the pupil, and he would be the teacher.

But then he remembered how he had ended up at the Boufard's house in the first place. A kiss had ended it all between him and Christine. He had already kissed Madeline. True, at first they would be just like any other professor and their student. Things would progress from there, though. There would be something inside of him. It would be small in the beginning, but slowly it would blossom and consume all his thoughts and actions. Things would go beyond being friends. Then it would all come crashing down on his head again, and neither of them would ever be the same again. He would once again be alone. When was he going to accept the fact that no one was ever going to love him?

Erik knew in his mind what he had to do. He couldn't let any of that happen. It would hurt Madeline, and it would kill him.

---

The day continued as usual; Genevieve came home, Henri finished work and went upstairs to make dinner. They ate the meal as they normally did. Madeline began to talk and eat, which made Henri very pleased.

That evening, as they sat around the fire, Erik showed Genevieve a new magic trick. He produced from his sleeve a single square of paper. Carefully he folded it into the shape of a rather small spider. He placed in on the floor and wiggled his fingers above it. It moved like a tiny marinate across the rug and over Genevieve's foot. The child simply watched with frightened fascination. Henri and Madeline also watched. After a few seconds of scuttling around Genevieve's ankle, the paper spider jumped to the ground again and unfolded itself.

The family stared at the crinkled paper for a long time, until Genevieve regained movement of her vocal cords and looked up at Erik.

"H-h-how did you do that?"

Everyone looked at Erik hopefully. Henri got up and picked up the paper. There were no strings attached. It showed no signs of being modified in any way. It was as if it had been under a spell. The two girls also examined it, but no matter how hard they looked, it was still just a rather wrinkled piece of paper.

They such a long time trying to figure it out, no one saw Erik leave and disappear into the guest room.

---

The next morning, everyone gathered once again in the kitchen. But something was missing: Erik wasn't there.

Henri checked in the spare bedroom only the find that the bed had been made. The room was spotlessly clean, in fact, showing no signs of there ever being an occupant. The whole house was all like that, too. The dishes were washed and the floor had been scrubbed. But there was no Erik." Where is he?" Henri asked.

"Here, look at this!" Genevieve reached fir the middle of the table and grabbed an envelope that had been lying there. Her father took it. Madeline looked at the letter over his shoulder as Genevieve craned her neck to read the curly black writing.

_To the Boufard family:_

_I must, first of all, thank you for the care you showed me over the past several days. I acknowledge your kindness and hospitality, though I feel now is the time we split our ways. It is in the best interest of your household that I leave you. I ask that, for the safety and overall well being of us all, you make no attempt to ever see me again. Though it gives me great sadness to write these words I feel it necessary for us to say our goodbyes. I am sure you all wish to return to your usual routine, as I would very much like to return to mine. Again, I cannot express to you my thankfulness for your family._

_I remain in your unending debt,_

_Erik_


	8. Home Again

**Disclaimer:** Me is to owning like the Phantom is to sanity.

**Hi all. I'm sorry if I stressed some of you out by making Erik leave in the last chapter. I made sure this goes up quickly, for all our sakes. Oh, actually, this chapter has a cliffhanger too. I think it's fair to warn you. R&R anyway!**

**Chapter 8: **Home Again

The opera house had been abandoned. Erik assumed everyone was still too afraid of it to go inside. Even the desperate homeless had stayed in the slums instead of moving into the grand empty building. Erik could enter through the front door without drawing any attention to himself. It had been very cold outside, but he had not needed to spend more than a quarter of an hour in the sharp night air, because he discovered that The Boufards only lived a few blocks from his former home.

As soon as he stepped inside L'Opera Populaire, the man suddenly felt powerful and perfectly at home. He was like a king now: he could go back down to his lair; he could compose and study as he had done before. He didn't have to fear being seen by anyone, at least for now. The door close behind him and he let the familiar shadows take him. He never realized how much he had missed the darkness until that moment when the blackness was once again surrounding him. _I'm home._ He thought.

Erik made his way through the theatre, down the corridors and passageways he knew so well. He lets his fingers run along the wall. He felt like he was a lost child who had returned home after many nights alone and afraid on the street.

Soon he found the boat. He rowed across the lake as he had done more than a hundred times before. Though once he was on the water there was no light and he had to trust his instincts and habits. He proceeded into the dark until he heard the bottom of the gondola scrape against the shore. Carefully, he climbed out and lit a candle that had been in his pocket.

He looked around at his lair. He couldn't see much in the small circle of light, so he decided to find one of the many candelabras so he could get a better look at his house. Erik took a few steps forward until he heard something crunch under his foot. He crouched down to see what he had stomped on.

The broken glass shards from a gas lamp were all over the floor. _That cannot be a good sign._ He crawled along the floor until his head banged against something hard. He hissed out a curse and moved his hands until he found whatever he had scuttled into. His candle had gone out. He moved his fingers up and down, trying to figure out what it was. It was vertical and smooth, probably wood. He went up a little higher and felt soft velvet.

_The organ bench!_

Erik remembered the general layout of his lair. If he moved a bit to the right . . . _Yes! _. . . there was the tall candle holder that stood right next to the organ. It was still intact, so he lit the candle with a match from his pocket.

All the items on top of the organ were now a pile of broken junk. He leaned forward and shifted through the pile. Ripped and burnt pieces of paper were everywhere. A few of the little machines that he had invented had been crushed. He sighed. He had been expecting this.

Now that he had his bearings, he set out to light as many candles as he could. He found many of his candles and lamps had been cracked or shattered. Once he had as much light has he could get for the time being, looked around at his home.

The mob had done a very good job of devastating it. They had torn apart his furniture and taken some of the more expensive things. Just like the organ, the floor was littered with things that could never be used again. They had turned the entire place upside-down searching for him. The lake's surface, he could see, was covered with floating paper-bits and pieces of fabric. Erik realized that if he had stayed in his lair after Christine had gone, they would have literally butchered him.

Erik then decided to look at his other rooms to see what had come of them. He was happy to learn that the room with the peacock bed in it had not been touched. The monkey music box was it had been the night he left. His closet with all the bed linens in it was empty, but that wasn't so bad. His pantry had been partially raided, too, but he could easily remedy that. One or two of his pots and pans had been taken along with all his best china. All the toilet tissue and soap had disappeared from the bathroom. But over all the only room that had been devastated had been the main room with his organ.

It made him sad to know most of his music had been destroyed, but Erik knew he could always rewrite it or find other copies of the scores he had not composed himself. The man was also thankful that some of his things had been left throughout the rest of his home. His secret compartments full of medical supplies and science experiments and assortment of other objects had not been found.

Among the assortment was his mask collection.

Erik opened the hidden door and took off the grubby cloth he had been wearing for days. He put it in the safe. _It has sentimental value, anyway. _Smiling he took the familiar shining white piece of porcelain. He placed it on his face as he had done so many times before.

He felt powerful then. In that moment he stopped being Erik and went back to being the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, and the composer of the Music of the Night.

But he did not see one creeping shadow move in one of the broken mirrors.

---

Antoinette Giry stepped cautiously into the grand entrance of L'Opera Populaire. It was around noon, so she had plenty of light to see by. She glanced around nervously. No signs of life anywhere. She began to think as she walked to the former prima donna dressing room.

Returning to the opera had been a matter of both fearing for someone else's life and her conscience. She had seen the mob as they had made their way to the underground lair: they wanted to see the blood of a certain man. This man happened to be an acquaintance of the ballet mistress. She had always felt it her duty to protect him. Even after her daughter had returned shortly after going into the bowels of the theatre to reassure her mother that the man had disappeared from his house on the lake she had not been satisfied. The woman could see in her mind one person with a gun or a sword straying from the mob and wandering the passages to find the one they were looking for unarmed and unable to defend himself.

Still, it had taken her more than a week to work up her courage to come back and look for him. Over that time her usual calm domineer had slowly transformed into shaking nervousness. She could not stand the idea of any human suffering. And this man had felt so much already. He didn't deserve any more. But she had still been nervous to come. Even in a weakened state, he could kill her rather quickly. He had always been stronger than her, and had never seemed nearly as bothered by murder as the average person should. He had not hesitated to strangle Buquet or Piangi or let the chandelier fall on the audience.

Mme. Giry soon found herself standing in front of the mirror in the dressing room. The pane of glass slid aside to reveal a dark tunnel. She brought her hand up to the level of her eyes and, holding a lit candle with a steady hand, proceeded into the shadows.

The blackness around her was almost suffocating. It made her feel alone and afraid. She held the candle higher so she could see better. Carefully, slowly, she walked through the tunnels and arrived at the underground lake.

To her disappointment, the boat was not moored on her side of the water. She squinted across the lake and saw little pinpoints of fire on the other side. _Someone has been there recently, or is there right now! _Hope and fear both began to build up inside her. The lights could be from Erik, or from some policeman or person from the mob. The only way she would ever know was if she crossed the lake. And the only way to cross the lake was to swim.

Taking a deep breath, Antoinette extinguished her candle and waded into the water. It was ice cold, but she kept going. After about ten paces it was over her head, and she had no choice but to push off the ground and do a crawl to the other side. She swam underwater for protection and took breaths only when she absolutely had to. She was surprised by her own speed, and that made her more confident.

As she felt herself near the shore, she broke the surface for a breath. Just as she began to gulp the cool air her windpipe became completely cut off. She choked and sank back into the liquid ice. Her hands went to her neck and she felt a rope tighten around it. She couldn't take a breath then even without the rope. She was going to both drown and be strangled at the same time.

She started to panic. She knew that it would only make it worse if she struggled, but her body refused to listen to what she was telling it to do. It was thrashing, only making the noose tighter.

---

Then everything was nothing.

---

Then she started to exist again. Air filled her lungs and she took it greedily. Her head was hazy, but slowly it began to clear itself. Her limbs regained feeling. There was a moment when she assured herself that she was indeed alive, and then she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a white mask above her.

"Erik!" Mme. Giry sat bolt upright. "Oh lord, I was afraid you were dead. I was afraid _I _was dead!" he looked at the floor.

"I must apologize . . ." he muttered. "I thought you were some looter coming to put an end to my earthly existence." He looked back up at her and spread out his hands. "And you needn't have worried. As you can see, I am very much alive, fairly unscathed, and started to rebuild my home just last night."

The woman looked around. They were sitting on the stone floor by the shore of the lake. There were organized stacks of paper on the floor, a broom leaning against a wall, and the organ had been polished.

"I haven't even begun to clean up all that glass, though." he pointed at the floor. "the mob did a wonderful job of messing this room up for me."

Relieved that Erik was alright, Antoinette nodded. "I can help you clean, if you'd like." She offered. The man stood up and helped her to her feet. He was wearing clean clothes and a wig, and did seem perfectly healthy, save for a slight stiffness in his legs.

But before they could move from where they were standing, a load bang resounded through the catacombs. Erik stood still for a split second. Then he collapsed into a heap on the stones. Mme. Giry whipped around. A masked man stood by one of the broken mirrors. He held a pistol at arms length.

"Well," the man said, lowering his arm. "That went surprisingly well. I expected him to put up more of a fight, with his reputation."

Mme. Giry stood frozen for a minute, before lunging for a candelabrum. In a second she was in another position, ready to charge. Narrowing her eyes down to slits, she glared at her target.

"If you don't mind Madame, I must be on my way." Antoinette leaped forward to attack, but the man disappeared into the tunnel beyond the mirror. She took a few steps into the shadows and swung her heavy weapon, but soon decided that there was no point in chasing him.

Turning on her heel, she raced back to where Erik's limp body lay.

**MAUHAHAHAHA!**


	9. Shock

**Disclaimer: **The Boufard family is all I own. That's it. Nothing else.

**Hey. Ah, the opera is finally over! But of course, as soon as it ends, exams roll around. And this year the school board in my province said "Why don't we cut out mid-terms and have the jr. high students (and only the jr. high students) memorize the whole year so they have to write one big exam in June? Then we can watch them run about frantically to study groups and help sessions trying desperately to remember things from as long ago as September! That will be great fun!" In short, I will be busy filling my brain with information I will forget by the time school starts again in the fall, so I won't be able to update for a bit.**

**But I'm still really happy about the opera. I gotta tell you guys, as cheesy as this sounds, by the end of the last scene, when immediately the audience gave standing ovation, and we sang the national anthem, I wasn't a pathetic Mezzo chorus member at one of the cheapest theatres in the city, I was a Prima Donna at the Palais Garnier. It was like nothing ever before. It was closing night, but it was one of the happiest in my life. Once again I was in a world where music and sound was all there was, a world where one could sing, _I _could sing, without any voice problems or flaws mattering; a place I had been only once before.**

**You can tell I'm stalling, can't you?**

**Chapter 9:**

"Erik!" Mme. Giry cried as she kneeled by the man's side. Carefully, she rolled him onto his back and looked at his face. It was pale, his eyes wide with surprise. _He's dead. _She thought. _Oh Lord, he's dead!_

Then, suddenly, his eyelids fluttered, and the woman saw he was only in shock. She looked down at his torso, not leaving herself any time to be relieved. It was hard to believe his shirt had ever been white. It was now a bright crimson. She ripped it off of him, but there was so much blood she couldn't see were the bullet hole actually was. First she just looked over the trunk of his body, and was relieved to discover that nothing essential had been hit. She found the hole a minute later, half-way up his right upper arm. It was deep and was bleeding badly. Quickly, she ripped off the hem of her dress, bunched it up and pressed it against the wound.

After a few moments of applying pressure, the dance mistress noticed Erik's eyes were open and flicking around franticly. He finally settled on her, staring, looking absolutely terrified. He had no idea what was going on. She knew he would go into a panic if she did try to comfort him. She spoke calmly and made slow movement so not to startle him.

"It's alright, Erik. You'll be fine. I'm just trying to slow down the bleeding. You've been shot, Erik. But it's only your arm. I can help you. You'll be fine. Look, see, the bleeding is slowing. You'll be fine, Erik. You are not going to die. You wouldn't lose your arm, either. Just try to relax. I'll take care of you. You'll be fine."

He closed his eyes again and rested his head on the stones. His breathing became regular again. Sighing with relief, Mme Giry tied the cloth to his arm and let go.

"Erik, I'm going to go look for your medical supplies. I won't be gone long. You stay here and rest, alright? I'll be back in a minute or two." Erik let out a quiet grunt in recognition and the woman hurried off. She searched the whole house, but couldn't find anything. She had just decided to use old rags for bandages when she tripped on an uneven place on the floor and put her hand on the wall for support. When she did this, though, her hand went through the wall, or rather, she pushed on the door of a secret compartment. When she regained her balance, she looked inside the little cubby hole. There was the box with medical supplies. Not wasting a moment, she grabbed the box and ran back to Erik.

Mme. Giry kneeled down again and put his arm on her lap. Gently, she removed the cloth and looked at the wound. Then she realized she was faced with another problem: she had to extract the bullet by herself. Erik probably knew how, but he wasn't going to be able to tell her at this particular moment. And she couldn't do it herself. But she had to. He would be at risk of an infection if she didn't.

She opened the box and shifted through its contents until she found a pair of tweezers and a cloth. She washed out the wound first. She knew that he was staring at her, but she tried to ignore it. Then, holding her breath, she reached in with the tweezers and pulled out a very bloody bullet with some difficulty. Erik made a little noise and closed his eyes. She let out her breath and spoke to Erik again.

"There. I've taken out the bullet. I'll just make sure your arm won't get infected now, and then I'll leave you alone to rest." Erik didn't respond. His eyes were still closed tightly. She couldn't blame him; his arm looked like it definitely hurt a lot. The woman bound his arm tightly and set it on the ground again.

Then she realized she couldn't leave him on the cold stone floor. There was blood all over it. And he would certainly catch a chill, staying there. The floor was also very hard: defiantly not the place for him to start recovery. She simply had to move him. But how? She had a slim built, and he was obviously heavier than her. She couldn't carry him. She would have to drag him.

Antoinette leaned forward and carefully tucked her hands under his arms. She stood up slowly until his shoulders were resting on her bent knees and his head was on her thighs. After checking her balance, she started to walk backward.

It was an awkward movement, but she managed. She looked back constantly, paranoid she would run into something. She was sure if anyone else had been there they would be laughing, for the scene was, she had to admit, rather comical. But, then again, if anyone else had been there, they would be helping her, whether they liked it or not.

Finally they reached the peacock bed. Mme. Giry lowered Erik to the floor and let go. She pulled back the warm red sheets first before turning back to him. Carefully she wrapped her hands around his torso and lifted him onto the bed. She pulled his legs up too and adjusted his position. Then she reached down and pulled the blanket up over his body. She stood there and watched him breathe for a moment. She wanted to make certain that he was going to be alright. He seemed fine, but she still stood there.

Looked at him, silent and helpless, made her think of Meg. A long time ago, when Meg had been seven or eight and they had first moved into the opera, the girl had fallen down the stairs and injured her shoulder. Her mother had not known how much damage had been done, so she had immediately called for the resident doctor. They learned that she suffered a shoulder separation. After the doctor had done the usual treatment, Meg had still been in quite a bit of pain. She had rested in bed for a few hours. She had tried to get to sleep, but if she moved she would shift her shoulder and the discomfort would wake her up. Mme. Giry had wanted to help but there was nothing she could do. Even though Meg had recovered quickly, those hours stayed in Antoinette's mind for a long time. Erik was completely defenseless, at least for now. He had lost a large amount of blood. But once again, she could do nothing to help. This was something Erik needed to do on his own.

But Mme. Giry did know how she could help a bit. After the chandelier incident, she had rented a small apartment and was living there. Meg now knew everything. She knew where her mother was and wasn't expecting her back for another twenty-three hours. That gave the woman time to clean up the lair a bit for Erik.

_I haven't been here for so long, but I must do whatever I can._

---

_Earlier that morning:_

"He's gone!" whispered Genevieve, still staring at the letter. Henri and Madeline were staring in disbelief, too. Erik had become such a big part of their routine . . . and then he just disappeared.

"I don't understand." Henri said "Before he left, he said that no one cared about him, so he mustn't have family to go to, or any friends, or even a neighbor who was worried about him. Surly not everyone who met him hated him! Even if that was true, surly a landlord or something would show up looking for him! No one came for him!"

"Someone who had known him would try to track him down." Genevieve said.

"Exactly! If nobody did, that means he practically knows no other humans! Or everyone's just afraid of him, or something!"

"I know where he went." Madeline said quietly. "You remember how his face was so disfigured? I saw that face before that night I took off his mask. That's why I was mad."

Then she told them everything.

By the end of her story, her family was speechless.

"So you mean to tell me," said Henri slowly "That that rumor about a phantom of the opera in the newspaper . . ." his voice trailed off. His oldest daughter nodded.

"That's it. Erik was the one who cut down the chandelier. Erik was the one who drove that prima donna named La Carlotta from the opera house. Erik was the Phantom of the Opera."

**Okay, I think I need to clear this up: Neither Henri nor Genevieve had any idea this was Erik's true identity. They knew he was disfigured, so they left it at that. Henri had found him in the burnt out opera and assumed he had just been forgotten in the confusion. **

**Madeline, on the other hand, was in the first row at the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant!_, so she got full view of his face and other features. When she came home from the hospital, she saw a man with the same hair and body structure as Don Juan and wore a mask. She put two and two together and figured out who he was. Madeline had seen the terrible things the disaster had done to people, including Armand and herself, so naturally she was mad. Her family did not understand why she had been so violent, but they knew what she was like when she was angry and left her be.**

**I hope that clears up any confusion. Sorry this chapter is short but there wasn't much to say. I'm also sorry if I made anyone who is incredibly squeamish uncomfortable. I think this chapter is part of the reason this story is rated K+ instead of just K! Graphic descriptions are always so much fun to write! (Everyone backs away slowly).**

**Review because I told you to. Obey me. Mauhaha.**


	10. A Disaster Beyond Imagination

**Disclaimer: **I borrowed Susan Kay's novel from my friend. That's it. Actually, I should probably give it back . . .

**Yo yo yo. I was just curious, do any of my faithful readers (aka you) play neopets? I do. I'm just that cool. If so, are you doing the Altador cup thingy? I was supporting Merridell, but they were beaten in the second round (cries), so now I'm with Krawk Island! Aye, Avast! PIRATES FOREVER!**

**Okay, well now that I'm done saying that . . . um yeah. Again, I wrote most this chapter during the little breaks between studying, so sorry if it has a sort of disconnected feeling. This is an essential chapter, so read it carefully. This is sort of the "mini-climax", if you know what I mean.**

**I am happy to say, though, that the school year is officially over, so I will be able to post more frequently now. A few days ago I posted a sad/dark oneshot from Erik's POV. It's just him talking about his life. Read it and tell me what you think!**

**Anyway . . . **

**Chapter 10: **A Disaster Beyond Imagination

Erik opened his eyes slowly. He knew he was in his lair, but he couldn't remember anything else, except for a few quick pictures. Mme. Giry had been there. He had been cleaning. And then he remembered pain . . .

He tried to use his arms as leverage so he could sit up. As soon as he moved his right arm, his vision flashed red and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out in surprise and pain. He slumped back down on the pillows behind him. "_Merde!_" Erik hissed. Muttering more curses under his breath, he looked around. He was lying in the swan bed, the curtain drawn around him. He twisted his neck around to get a view of his arm. His upper arm was wrapped tightly with bloodstained gauze. _What now? _He thought. _This is the third time in less than two weeks I have ended up in bed!_

Carefully, Erik pulled himself out of bed and headed for the wardrobe. He put on a shirt and ventured out into the main room of his house. Mme. Giry was kneeling on the floor, scrubbing at the blood on the stones. _That cannot be a good sign. _The woman still hadn't noticed his presence. Erik suddenly felt a bit dizzy, so he decided it was best if he started asked questions.

"Madame?" Mm. Giry turned around. He hadn't really surprised her. After so many years at the opera with him, nothing surprised her anymore. She noticed that he still looked rather pale, but she knew better than to tell the Phantom of the Opera to go back to bed.

"Ah, Erik. It's good to see you up. You gave me quite a scare just a few hours ago."

"I meant to ask you about that. My memory seems to have left me for the moment."

"Well you were in shock for a while, so you probably can't remember. It happened suddenly, too. Neither of us saw it coming, I don't think. You and I were just standing here talking, and then a man came out of the mirror and shot you in the arm. He said something about your reputation and how he had expected you to do more, and ran off. I was going to chase him, but I decided to take care of you first. You have lost quite a bit of blood."

Erik was suddenly very concerned. His brow wrinkled in thought. "That man . . . did you see any of his features? Have you any idea who he was?" Antoinette shook here head.

"I'm afraid not. He was wearing a mask, and I didn't recognize his voice. I didn't get a good look at him: he wasn't here for long. He was tall, that's all I know. I think he meant to kill you. He most likely thinks he has."

"Someone tried to kill me. That's nothing new." Mme. Giry caught a hint of sadness in his voice. This was definitely not the first time anyone had gone after him with a weapon. It made her sad to think about it. People only hated Erik because of his face. "I suppose I should be worried for my safety." She watched him for a while, and then went back to cleaning.

Erik took a little gold watch from his pocket. Just before he flipped it open, he took a moment to look at the gold decoration. The name _R. Firman _was inscribed in it. When the new managers had first arrived they had refused to obey the orders he had written for them. He had begun trying to convince them there was a ghost. It had become a bit of a game for him; Erik would sneak into their office at the dead of night and take one of the little items that had been thrown carelessly on the desk at the end of the day, then the next morning he would watch with rather childish delight as they shuffled through the mountain of papers and used cigars, growing steadily more agitated. But after a time, he had become too busy to concern himself with tiny pranks. He would be too busy with –

He closed flipped the watch open before he could think her name. He had not done so in quite a few days. He wasn't going to go back, he decided. She was probably already married. He looked down. The watch read 4 p.m. _What is the Boufard family doing right now?_ Erik wondered. Genevieve would be arriving home soon; perhaps she was walking up the stairs to her apartment at that very moment. Henri would put the "closed" sign in the shop window and follow her. The little girl would already be telling him all about the days' events, like how her friend Clarisse had tripped at lunch time and accidentally poured hot soup on Mme. Lecroix's dress or that she had received one hundred percent on her grammar test. Her father would tell her about some rich costumer had bought a beautiful pair of dress shoes that day, the pair he had spent hours polishing to perfection. And Madeline . . .

Suddenly, the man realized that he hadn't the faintest idea of what Henri's oldest daughter would be doing at this hour. He simply had known her long enough. Perhaps she would be sewing, repairing some old pair on trousers that were getting a bit worn. No, she seemed too rebellious by nature to be doing such a thing willingly. But it was possible. She had, as far as he could tell, been rather out-of-character for the last few days he had spent with the family.

The Phantom closed the watch with a snap and gazed out across the vast lake before him. He tried to picture the Boufard family. He tried to think of what Madeline was doing. Maybe she was cooking dinner already. Or she could be singing, or reading, or doing just about anything. Anything but sewing . . .

---

Madeline had just finished mending a hole in one of her sister's warm winter stockings when she heard the girl's voice from the stairwell. She was telling her father one of her stories from school.

" . . . and we all thought she would be mad, but she just helped Clarisse up and told her they still had lots of soup left, she could just go and get more."

"You're so lucky you have teachers like Mme. Lecroix. I remember at my school, when I was your age, we had a particularly nasty man who taught us arithmetic. He would give the strap for some of the silliest little things, and innocent children got sent to the principal more often than not. A good friend of mine, Charles, got a wicked beating for dropping his pen in a way that was, according to Monsieur Écorcher, "completely disruptive, intentional, and unacceptable." Poor boy didn't come to school the next day. When I went to see him, his mother told me it had been a mixture of the pain in his back and absolute fear of the man that had made him skip the day."

"We don't really have any mean teachers, except Sister Agathe. She sent Marie home in tears once. I can't remember why, it was a long time ago, but I know it wasn't anything really bad."

"I remember Sister Agathe." Madeline joined the conversation when the other two entered the room. "Is she still teaching? Lord, she was old when I started school. The woman must be ancient. Why is it the nasty ones always take the longest time to wuzzle off?"

"Madeline . . ." Henri shot her a warning glance from across the room. His daughter shrugged.

"It's true. You know it is, Papa. You said it yourself last year, remember? About that crabby old woman down the street who keeps getting mad at the children playing in the streets because "they're much too happy for their own good."?"

"Oh," Genevieve nodded "I don't like that lady. She got mad at me and Carol last month when we were walking home. She said we laughed too much."

"How does beef stew sound for dinner?" Henri, knowing he would not win the argument, changed the subject. (**A.N.: my dad does this all the time, especially when we're bouncing pointless trivia questions off one another (we're that cool) and it's one of the rare occasions where he doesn't know the answer.**)

"We had beef last night." Genevieve pointed out. Henri sighed.

"I know, Genny, but I haven't had time to do any shopping at all this week, between taking care of Madeline, and business at the shop, and Erik . . . I just haven't had a chance!"

"I'll do it." Madeline offered. Henri shook his head.

"I'm not letting you go out alone. Not with that leg of yours. If anything were to happen, like if you fell . . ."

"Why don't we all just go together?" Genevieve suggested. "It's been so long since we've done anything as a family. It would be fun."

Her father considered it for a moment, then smiled. "I don't see why not. It's true, in all the commotion of recent events we haven't really gone out together." Genevieve, delighted, ran to get Madeline's coat from the closet.

A few minutes later, the trio was making their way down the street, stopping sometimes to look at a food display in front of a shop. Madeline had to lean on her father to walk, but Genevieve skipped on ahead.

"Don't go so fast, please, Genny. It's hard for us to keep up." The little girl slowed down and stopped to look in at a shop window. Her family caught up with her and looked in the window as well. It was an old convenience store, but the signs in by the display showed that they were selling for very cheap prices. "Let's take a look inside." Henri said.

The shop was dusty, and there didn't seem to be anyone inside. "Hello?" Genevieve called shyly. No one answered. Henri looked around the desk where the cashier usually sat. It was abandoned. "How curious." He muttered.

"Maybe it's closed, and they forgot to put up the sign in the door." Genevieve suggested. "Look at this . . . everything's so dusty!"

While the other two talked, Madeline wandered over to a corner of the shop, where there were a few old paintings hanging on the wall. One, hanging just above her head, was of a man and woman, walking into the shadows that covered half the canvas. The other side was looked like a place where a bloody battle had just been fought. The man had his arms around her waist, dragging her away from the gory scene and into the suffocating darkness seemingly against her will. She stared at the painting for a few moments, trying to make sense of the bizarre picture.

Suddenly, two hands ripped through the other side of the canvas and grabbed Madeline around the neck. She jumped and tried to scream, but the hands' grip around her throat only allowed a small shriek. Henri and Genevieve whirled around to see Madeline being pulled up the wall and into the painting by her neck. Her sister screamed. They both ran over and grabbed at her skirts to try and pull her to the ground. Madeline's hands flew to her neck and she struggled to free herself from the tight hold. Henri grabbed a nearby stool and wrapped his arms around her whole torso and pulled.

Hands sprang from all the paintings, and they started tugging on Genevieve and Henri and forcing them away. Genevieve screamed and slapped at the fingers that had a firm grasp on her jacket. Once it released her, she bolted from the shop to find a police officer.

Many hands were holding Henri's shirt, trying to drag him to the floor. He took his arm away from his daughter and leaned against the wall. Quickly, he jumped and brought his leg up so it went through the ripped canvas and into the face of one of the unseen kidnappers. To his satisfaction, he heard a load curse and the hands disappeared into the wall again. He started to repeat the action, but all of a sudden one of the hands above him was holding a sword. Before he could react the sword's point swung out and sliced across his shoulder and chest. He cried out in surprise and pain and lost his balance. Henri fell to the floor, losing his grip on both the wall and his daughter. He watched in horror as Madeline's body was pulled up over the picture frame and out of sight.

Genevieve and a police officer ran in a second later.

"Papa!" the girl ran to his side, dismayed by the sight of his blood and the fact that she couldn't see her sister anywhere.

"What's happened here?" the officer stepped forward. "I was told something about a kidnapping, or perhaps a murder. Something about hands reaching out of nowhere . . ."

The officer's words echoed pointlessly in Henri's ears. He couldn't believe what had just happened. It had been something out of an old horror novel. And they had taken his child. They had taken Madeline from him. Tears stung his eyes as he stared at the gaping hole that had been a painting, that place into which Madeline had disappeared, possibly forever.

"She's gone." He whispered. "She's gone again. They took Opale away again."


	11. Aliencies Forged

**Disclaimer:** The Boufard family is mine, so is the dude who tried to kill Erik and Madeline's kidnappers. Other than that, it's all someone else's.

**Hi all. Chapter 11 is up already! It feels like I started this fanfic yesterday, and before I know it what's happening it will be over! Wow, that was creepy. It sounded like it was my child. I guess all my stories (there is a surprising number of them), are like my children, as completely demented as that sounds.**

**Unfortunately, this may be the last chapter that will be posted for a couple of weeks. I'll be away from the 3rd till the 14th, but I'll update if I can before I leave. If I don't post again for a few days after I return, no worries. I have a really busy summer ahead, but I will post every time I can. I made this chapter extra-long just for you!**

**Oh yeah by the way as of this chapter the rating will be bumped up from a K+ to T. I feel this necessary because things will be implied. Very "mature themes" will be suggested. I'm not going to write a sex scene, if that's what your thinking, but stuff that may offend some people/is not appropriate for younger kids will be brought up.**

**Well, you're all probably dying to know what happens next. READ AND REVIEW PLEASE! Last time I updated with only two reviews. I expect to come home to some, please!**

**Chapter 11: **Alliances forged

They had rushed to the police station immediately. They explained in great detail what had happened and answered all the questions the police asked. Henri was getting very frustrated. He wanted them to go on a search. He wanted them to find his daughter and bring her home safely. He could see Genevieve was holding back tears as she told an officer what she had seen. He tried to comfort her, but he only succeeded in upsetting her more, though she tried not to show it. He had bent down mechanically and hugged her. "Everything will be alright, Genevieve. There's no need to cry." It was hard to believe. As he had done this, his face had been stony, and he had just yelled "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR BLOODY REGULATIONS!" at the chief. His currently monotone voice had not helped the situation any. She had just nodded and whispered. "I know, Papa."

After about an hour a group of police officers had gone out to search the building they had been in when Madeline was abducted. Henri had stood, watching them walk down the street and disappear around the corner. He made his way over to one of the chairs in the lobby and sat next to Genevieve. He thought about what had happened that morning. And now that he had time to think about it, it really sunk in. Madeline had been kidnapped. Just before the search party had gone out, the chief had said "I'm afraid pretty young girls are often victims of such crimes. We may be too late already." Henri realized what the kidnappers might do now that they had her. He was terrified for Madeline. There were so many stories like this; the body would be found in the bottom of a river, so mangled it was near impossible to identify, the criminals long disappeared.

Henri was scared. If anything were to happen . . .

Madeline had been the spitting image of her mother.

She was now with a bunch of mad rouges who undoubtedly had plans for their own pleasure. She had been safe one moment, then was being attacked the next.

The thought of Madeline's fear made Henri unfathomably regretful. Why hadn't he fought harder? He knew he had been pulling as hard as he could have at the time, but he should have been stronger. He should have been watching her. It was his fault, all his fault.

Sadness overcame him, so he buried his face in his hands and wept. He sat there in the lobby of the middle-class police station for an hour and let the tears run freely across his skin.

After a long time he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see Genevieve sitting there. Her eyes were shining with sorrow. "Papa," she said quietly. "Papa, do you mind if I cry with you?"

"Pardon?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"You told me that there wasn't a need for me to cry . . . but I really think I need to. Please? I promise I won't again if you just let me now." Henri smiled. Slowly, he began feeling like his old self again.

"Genny, you may cry with me whenever you wish. You needn't ask."

With that, she leaned into him and buried her face in his bloody shirt and cried. He sobbed along with her until both of them had run out of tears. They sat silently with each other. Simply being in the presence of someone who felt the exact same way as themselves was very comforting.

Finally, around seven o'clock in the evening, the investigators returned. One of them went to Henri.

"Sir, I understand it was your daughter who disappeared?"

"Yes." Henri stood up. "Yes, it was my daughter." The officer showed Henri into his office and the two sat down at his desk.

"I'm afraid that we found no clues to the whereabouts of the girl." Henri's heart sank. The other man continued. "We searched the old shop. The walls behind the paintings were extra thick to accommodate special tunnels that were each large enough to hold a person. This operation was planned, and planned well. We learned that that building has been empty for many years. It was built a very long time ago. The tunnels are part of the original design."

"So that means that place was practically built for kidnap!"

The police officer shrugged. "It is quite a mystery, that old shop. We have no other record of any crimes taking place in that place. But, we did discover that someone had been in the upstairs apartment recently." Henri straightened up, hopeful. "It would appear that someone had disturbed the layer of dust up there a few days back. It's as if the crime plan has been considered for a while, but it was only a matter of finding a location to put it all to work. The only way, though, for anyone to possibly know where you were and set the plan into action was if you were being watched."

A chill ran down Henri's spine. Someone had been watching his family! Suddenly he felt uneasy. The idea of having a stalker disturbed him greatly. "Is there any chance of Madeline being found?"

The officer sighed. "I'm afraid we may not find her, monsieur. The policeman who brought you here made the mistake of not immediately going after the criminals. We will try, but if no clues are found soon, we may as well be to move Paris more to the East. I'm sorry. Perhaps it would be best if you go home and get some rest. We'll contact you as soon as we get any information."

Henri thanked him with a blank expression on his face and left the building with Genevieve. The February evening was getting dark fast. The two walked home without exchanging a single word. As soon as they reached their apartment they went to bed without eating supper.

---

That had been Tuesday. The search was called off on Saturday.

"Who was that at the door, Papa?" Genevieve asked.

"The police." Her father said without expression. "They've ended the search."

"Oh."

"They didn't find anything. She's gone. They searched the entire district without finding any clues." Henri sat down at the table with his daughter, staring blankly at the wood.

"They must not be very good police, then."

Henri looked up, surprised by Genevieve's statement. She didn't look distraught over the news. "What do you mean?"

"What if someone outside of the district kidnapped her?"

"Genny, don't be ridiculous. A rapist is not going to travel across the city to find a girl. Whoever kidnapped Madeline was probably some aroused madman whose been wandering up and down our street for months."

"Erik doesn't live here."

Henri stared at the little girl. It was not because what she said was farfetched, but because he had never thought about it before. Erik was the perfect suspect! He was already a criminal, he knew where their house was, he had disappeared mysteriously, and he had a gigantic opera house he could use as a hide out. It had only been his natural sympathy that had prevented him from reporting Erik to the authorities already. Without wasting another minute, he raced to get his jacket.

"Genevieve, get your coat. You're going to spend the day at Carol's house."

"Why?"

"Because I need to go somewhere and I'm not leaving you home alone." Henri grabbed a large knife from the counter and hid it in his jacket.

"I want to come with you!"

Her father ran to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "No, Genevieve. This is too dangerous. I'm not going to lose you, too." Before she could protest, he led her down the stairs and into the street. They reached her friend's house and knocked on the door. A kind-looking woman answered the door.

"Good morning, Henri. What brings you here so early?" the woman knew about Madeline. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Lily, I'm sorry to interrupt anything, but I have to do an important errand right now. I was hoping you could take care of Genevieve today while I am out."

"Oh, that's alright. Carol just finished her breakfast. Don't worry about a thing. We'd be happy to take care of Genevieve for as long as you need."

"Thank you. Sorry about the short notice, but this is urgent." he knelt down and hugged his daughter.

"Papa, please be careful."

"Don't worry about me, Genny. I'll be back soon." He kissed her forehead and stood up.

"Good luck." Lily said. She had no idea where he was going, but she assumed it had something to do with his missing daughter. Henri nodded and began the walk to the opera house.

After two blocks his chest started to hurt. He was beginning to wish he had let Genevieve look after him. For the past few days, he had barely done anything with the child. He had spent a large portion of his time down in his shop. If he kept focused on one thing (in this case, making and fixing shoes) he could keep his thoughts from wandering to Madeline and the terrible fate she was sure to face. The whole week, he had only talked to people when it was necessary.

Henri also noticed that it was a strangely cold morning. He hadn't brought gloves or a hat. At first he trudged on and tried not to think about the bitter whether. After a moment he realized that if he ran he wouldn't feel so cold and he could get to the opera house quicker . . . and possibly see Madeline again. He started a brisk jog and soon was running through the streets like someone was going to kidnap him, too.

A few minutes later, he was standing at a small door on the edge of the opera house. The door was small, used by the staff when they traveled in and out during the day. Henri looked around. Nobody was in sight. The man grabbed the handle and jiggled it. It was locked. He became frantic, He took a step back and slammed his shoulder into the wood. The cut of his shoulder burned. He ignored it and threw his weight at the door again. This time it gave. He stumbled into the dark space beyond and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He lay down and rested for a minute. He took large gulps of air until he finally caught his breath.

When Henri felt he could continue, he pulled himself up and looked around. He couldn't see a thing. It was pitch black inside the huge building. His breathing was still irregular. He put a hand on his chest and felt warm blood trickling between his fingers. _Oh, not now! _He thought. He was not bleeding very much at all, so he decided it was safe to move on. He took a few steps forward with his hands outstretched and felt something soft brush his arm. He clung to it and discovered it was a curtain. He was just behind the stage. He walked alongside the curtain until it stopped. He wandered about blindly for a minute or two before he discovered a staircase. He climbed it carefully until he came to a door. He opened in and stepped inside the room.

Henri still couldn't see a thing, but he could tell that the room had once been a dressing room because it smelt of roses even after more than a week of disuse. Who ever had used it last had probably fled the opera house with stopping to collect their things. He walked forward until he banged his knee on something hard. He hissed out a curse and began to feel his way around. Soon his fingers touched something smooth and cool. It felt like glass. _A mirror. _Henri thought. _Nothing important. _The man decided to take a quick break so he sat down and leaned against the cold pane. _At this point, I'm never going to find anything. I should have brought –_

Suddenly the mirror slid under his weight and he fell through. He lay there, stunned, for a brief second before straightening up to look around. He was in a long hallway that ended with another flight of stairs. Candelabras lit the way down.

Happy to be able to see again, Henri set off. _I must be getting close to Erik's home. _He took the knife from his jacket and held it at the ready. He didn't want to fight anyone, but he knew that if Madeline was being kept in the building he was going to have to.

He stood by the wall when he reached the stairs and held on to keep his balance. The stone was damp and slippery. He took one step forward carefully.

Suddenly the step fell away and he felt himself plunging deeper into the darkness. A small cry escaped his lips just before he hit more hard stone.

He lay there for a second, completely winded, afraid to move or think. Slowly he sat up. He didn't felt any new pain. That fact gave Henri new confidence. He stood up and looked around. There was light, but he couldn't see where it was coming from. Something caught his eye. There was a man standing directly in front of him. He couldn't see any of his features, the light was too dim. He raised his knife and prepared to attack if he had to. The other man didn't move. Henri took a step back but he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He wheeled around. Another man stood right behind him. He saw something else and turned to see another shadowy figure. Henri soon realized that he was completely surrounded. He tried not to panic. He had expected he may have to battle one, maybe two people . . . but he couldn't defeat eight! He stood perfectly still, trying to think of something to do. The men remain still and silent as well. They all stood in the same place for a long time until Henri took the tiniest step forward. All the others shifted as well, but no one made any move to attack.

The lighting conditions changed suddenly It was brighter, but still difficult to see the other men's features. Then he caught a glimpse of someone behind the shadowy figures. It looked like Madeline. Henri lunged forward yelling her name, and it felt like the whole room was moving away from him and he hit something hard. He picked himself up again, and on the edge of his line of sight he saw Genevieve. "Genny!" he cried in surprise "I told you this was too dangerous! Go back to Carol's house!" He turned around, but she was gone, the dark figures moved with him. Henri started to sweat, partially because of stress but also because the room seemed to be getting hotter. Then, right behind one of the dark people he saw who he at first believed was Madeline, but slowly it became clear who it truly was.

"Opale . . . " he muttered in disbelief. His voice echoed in the small chamber. He stared at his wife and she stared back. He ran forward but she disappeared. He ran round the room, trying to find her again. She wasn't anywhere. He screamed her name, but she didn't reappear. All the while the temperature rose. He became frantic. Sometimes he caught sight of one of his daughters and would run to her, but she would be gone when he reached for her.

Then Erik stood over him. "You!" shouted Henri "Where are they?" he leaped forward, but his strength had been spent, and he felt sick before he collapsed into sobs. They were gone. His family was gone.

---

Someone was shaking Erik. He grumbled and sat up in bed. Mme. Giry was standing over him, looking very concerned. She had been coming for a few hours every day to help him cook, clean, and change his bandages. His arm was healing very slowly. He was at risk of catching a fever now and the fact he needed so much sleep was putting him in a foul mood.

"Erik, I'm sorry I had to wake you, but I need to ask you something. I arrived about a quarter of an hour ago. Roughly five minutes after I arrived I started hearing this constant ringing. I let it alone, but it hasn't stopped yet. I haven't been down here in years, so I've no idea what it means. I was worried it's an alarm warning about intruders."

Erik sat still for a moment. He could hear a bell chiming over and over again. He realized what it was and rushed out of bed. Mme. Giry followed him out of the room and into a tunnel. He ran down the corridor until he came to a heavy-looking door. He unlocked it quickly and yanked it open.

A man fell out and started grabbing at the hem of Erik's trousers. He was shaking badly and muttering something about "them" before breaking down into hysterical sobs. Erik looked down at the pathetic sight and spoke calmly.

"Good Morning, Henri. I did not expect to see you again. This is indeed quite a surprise." Erik bent down and scooped the up the babbling man from the floor. He walked back to his home and sat him in a chair at the kitchen table. Antoinette stared at the quivering man.

"Will he be alright?"

"Perhaps." Erik said as he started to boil a pot of water on the stove. "He hasn't killed himself, so he'll probably recover. I think he's set a record now, for the longest amount of time spent in the torture camber. Around ten minutes. That's very impressive." He was stirring something into the warm water.

"He's got blood all down his front."

"Does he? I never had a proper look. His jacket was in the way." Erik poured the liquid into a mug and walked over to Henri. The shaken man tried to push him away. Erik reached out to still him but Henri slapped at his hand.

"Where are they?" he demanded. His voice was hoarse and rough, nothing like Erik remembered it. "You have them! Let me see them! Where are you keeping them?" Henri bent over and vomited. When he was done, Erik spoke.

"Here, drink this." When Henri resisted, Erik managed to restrain him. He poured the contents of the mug down Henri's throat. He could see now that Henri was bleeding. His shirt was blood-stained. "Henri, what have you done now?" he murmured.

When the mug was empty, Erik went to put it away as Mme. Giry fetched a towel to clean the mess on the floor. Henri sat there, looking rather dazed, slowly coming to his senses. The other man took a seat across the table.

"M. Boufard, I must ask you, what brings you here to the abandoned opera?"

"Madeline was kidnapped." He said bluntly.

The phantom blinked in surprise. "When was she taken?"

"Last Tuesday. The police ended the search earlier this morning. They didn't find her."

"Where did you last see her?"

Henri told him the whole story, and Erik listened intently. Antoinette returned briefly to clean up, then left the room. At the end of the tale, Erik sat in deep thought for a long time.

"So you suspected me?" he asked finally.

"_Oui_."

Erik sighed. "I'm afraid that I know nothing of her whereabouts. I was being quite sincere in my note to you when I said that I wished to make no more contact with your family."

"I'm going to find her." The father said, determined. "But I can't do it alone."

"I suppose I could be of assistance to your plan."

"You will help me then?"

"I don't see why I can't. I am in your debt."

Henri leaned back in his chair, relieved by the thought of having help in his task. He closed his eyes and let himself relax. There was still a chance that his daughter would be found. He had barely gotten any sleep for the past few days, and the events of the morning were starting to take their toll on him. Happy, he let himself drift into sleep.


	12. A New Plan

**Disclaimer: **If you don't own it, what makes you think I do?

**Well, chapter 12 is now up! Aren't you all excited? Probably not, but oh well, I am. I saw Pirates of the Caribbean 2 on the 15th! When we saw Davie Jones playing the organ I started to laugh really hard because it made me think of a phanfic I had read the night before. I was the only person in the theater laughing. I kept cracking up at the wrong times because my friend kept making funny comments or grabbing my arm when she was nervous, including the part where Will is being beaten. But now I'm in mourning the loss of a certain character (sobs).**

**Btw, the more reviews I get, the faster I'll update. Last time I only got 1 review! 1! I would like at least 3, please and thank you!**

**Chapter 12: **A New Plan

Henri awoke in a strange room. He was lying on a comfortable bed with soft expensive-looking red blankets and satin pillows. The cut on his shoulder and chest had been cleaned and bandaged. He felt rested after the first good sleep he had had in days. A watery black curtain prevented him from looking at his surroundings properly. He hesitated for a moment, then he pulled it pack and climbed out of bed.

The walls were a grey stone, but most of them were covered by black hangings. The bed was made of beautiful bronze and molded in the shape of a swan. A tall mirror loomed in one corner. A chest of drawers stood in another. It was made of a rich, dark wood. The whole room smelled vaguely of roses. Henri took a step forward and saw that there was a clean, folded white shirt lying on the dresser. He assumed it was for him and put in on. He looked in the mirror. The shirt was just his size. But he also noticed his appearance had hanged since he had last looked at his reflection. His hair resembled a bird's nest and his face looked tired, despite his recent sleep. But his eyes had a new gleam to them; he knew now there was still hope for Madeline. Erik would help him now. Erik was the Phantom of the Opera. Henri had read stories in the newspaper about his passage ways under the opera house, the crimes he had committed, the designs he had drawn, and the fact he had never been caught. If anyone could save his daughter, Erik could.

Henri walked out of the bedroom and found himself in a room with an organ. Erik was sitting on the bench. He looked up when the other man walked in.

"Good afternoon, monsieur. I did not expect you to awaken for another hour or more."

"What time is it now?" Erik produced a pocket watch from his vest and flipped it open.

"Half past four. That wound of yours re-opened while you were in the mirrored room and bled quite a bit."

The memory of the mirrored room made Henri shutter. It had been utter torture, being in that place. He had seen Opale there. He had believed her to be alive again. He had dove for her and reached out so he could hold her in his arms, and he would just meet cold, unfeeling glass. His own reflection would sneer and say "Fool! The dead never come back! You know that!".

"I have a suspicion as to who have taken your daughter." Erik's voice snapped Henri away from his reverie and back to the world.

"Who?" he demanded eagerly.

"Monsieur Armand Brunet. Madeline's former fiancé." Henri suddenly realized that Erik had just said something Henri should have noticed days ago. Armand was the perfect suspect! The man had called off he wedding for Madeline's sake, but he could have discovered he needed the girl. He decided to only way to get her was kidnap. He had the money to hire rouges who were experts in the field. Erik continued speaking.

"I have a plan. You will arrange to have dinner with Armand. While you are with him, you will drag on the conversation for at least two hours. If he is like most wealthy persons, his servants will begin their meal once he has already been served. While everyone in the house is occupied, I will search it for any signs of your daughter." Erik wasn't just proposing this idea. This was the plan, and it wasn't going to change.

"Alright. It seems good to me."

The two men continued to discuss the plan for a while. Once they both felt they knew it well and it would work, Henri prepared to set off for home.

"Wait." Erik stopped him as he stood up. "Let's write the message to Armand now. I will have it sent this evening."

"I could just write it when I get home."

"We should do it now."

Henri was not too keen on the prospect of arguing with the Phantom, so he wrote the message and left it with Erik. In return, the masked man showed Henri the way out of the abandoned opera house. He had then hurried to collect Genevieve and get back to his shop.

"I want to know what happened." The little girl demanded as they removed their jackets and boots. Her father knew it was dangerous to let her know what had gone on that day. He did what just about any parent in his place wouldn't do: he told her everything. _She has the right to know. _He thought.

"So you'll be away again tomorrow?"

"Yes, Genny. I'll make arrangements for you to spend the evening at Clarisse's while Erik and I are at The Brunet Mansion."

"Why can't I come with you?" Genevieve pouted. Henri sighed.

"You are only nine years old, Genevieve. These are not matters that children should become tangled in. Besides, it wouldn't be safe. What if Erik did find something? Anything could happen. A fight might break out. I don't want you getting hurt. Or worse." The girl muttered something in protest, but in the end she reluctantly agreed. Henri felt a little sorry for her. So many things were happening around her and she was completely helpless. She want so desperately to do something, but it was always "too dangerous" or "not for children" or "not for girls". His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to cheer her up.

"Listen, Genny," Henri said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I heard from a costumer that in a few weeks' time there'll be a traveling fair in town. A fair with lots of sights, rides, and those games you love so much, like ring toss. When this mess is all sorted, you and I and Madeline will all go as a family and forget our worries and do something fun together again. How does that sound?" the girl looked up at him with big, wondering eyes.

"Can Erik come too?"

Henri stared at his daughter in astonishment. Why did she want Erik to come? What was he supposed to say? _Well, Erik is a bit of a family friend now, I guess. _"Yes, Genny. Erik will come with us. And we'll spend the whole day at the fair."

"Alright." Genevieve nodded, but did not seem convinced.

"It's getting late. We should both be getting to bed."

"Yes, Papa." The girl nodded obediently again and walked to her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

_That was strange. _Henri noted. _She seems very out-of-sorts tonight._

---

The next morning Henri came home from mass and went straight to work while Genevieve disappeared upstairs.

"Message for Mr. H. Boufard!" he chimed and held an envelope out at arms length. Henri snatched it away, knowing already who it was from. The boy removed his cap and held that out, too, expecting a tip. Henri tossed a couple of coins in his general direction, never taking his eyes off the paper in his hands. The boy scowled and grabbed the coins from the floor. He looked at Henri, but the man did not react. Knowing he was not going to get any more money, he turned and left.

The shoemaker never even noticed the boy leave. The front of the envelope had his own name written on it in tidy script. He flipped it over and recognized the seal of the Brunet family. He broke the wax and pulled out the letter. It read:

_Dear Henri,_

_I would be delighted to eat a meal with you. It has been so long since we have last spoken, I rather miss your company. Come to my home at seven o'clock in the evening and show the servants this invitation. They will show you where we will be eating._

_Signed,_

_Armand Brunet_

Henri smiled. His request had been excepted. Then, suddenly, he felt nervous. He was going to have to talk with his daughter's ex-fiancé for two hours. What if he figured out what was going on? The whole plan would be ruined, not to mention Armand would be furious if he learned his house was being searched at that very moment, and even more so if he was the real criminal!

So Henri took his mind off his troubles the only way he knew how. He got back to work.

---

At quarter to seven, Henri sat in the taxi as it made its way to the Brunet mansion after dropping Genevieve off at her friend's house. Armand's family had been rich for many generations. Henri did not know the story of how they gained their fortune in the first place, but he knew it had something to do with a great-great-great-great-grandfather who had been a highly successful merchant, or something of that nature. It always made Henri feel insignificant whenever he thought about it. His family had been middle-class cobblers, shopkeepers, and carpenters for as long as anyone bothered to remember. The most exciting thing that had happened to his family money-wise was how last moth his cousin in Calais (a grocer) had found a 100 franc note on the ground. Later that evening, though, he had discovered it was counterfeit and had thrown it in the fire for the good of his conscience.

It had been an accident, when Armand had met Madeline. He had been riding his horse through the quieter streets of Paris when it had been spooked by a rather large dog went it ran right in front of it, barking like mad. He had been bucked off, but immediately he got up and tried to catch the gelding that was now galloping full-speed down the lane and almost trampling a group of children playing a ball game. As it would happen, Madeline was stepping out a shop at that very moment while the horse was coming straight at her. She saw in and walked toward it. As it passed her, she grabbed the reins and yanked them towards herself. She had little to no experience with calming horses, so she followed her instincts. The horse was panicking, rearing and bucking as if it would die if it didn't. The young woman stood her ground and began stroking the horse gently and talking calmly. By the time Armand caught up the horse was standing there, relaxed as it would be as if nothing had happened.

"I assume he is your horse, sir?" she had said, handing Armand the reins. Right away he fell in love with the how her voice sounded and her outstanding beauty. They remained friends for a long time. At least, Madeline thought they were friends. But the young man saw her as far more. After half a year, he proposed to her. She was not in love with him, but it would be terrible etiquette and a horrible stain on Armand's reputation should she refuse.

Armand was a sweet man. He often seemed boring at first, but he was really a very shy person around new people. He was selfless and compassionate. He had a great love for children and animals and did not enjoy doing things that many others of the higher class did every day, such as gossip.

The thought of Armand made Henri think about the plan and Erik again. He wondered how Erik would know when to enter the house and when to leave. He had asked those very questions the day before, but Erik had not replied. He had acted as if he had never heard. Again, Henri knew that it would be a bad idea to pursue the issue.

Henri also thought about why he considered Erik a family friend. Genevieve seemed to like him. Henri thought he was an odd yet interesting man. Erik was very knowledgeable. He was also very handsome, except for his disfigurement. It made Henri sad and angry to think about why society despised the Phantom. Erik was logical, talented, intelligent, and even charming at times, but people refused to except his face. _Society has a terrible tendency of being stupid._

The carriage came to a stop in front of a huge manor. Henri stepped out into the steady drizzle that had been coming down the whole day. He looked at the cabby. The man was so bundled up he could only see one of his eyes. Henri could not blame him, though. It was very cold out, and his job involved him being exposed to most of the elements for hours at a time. The cabby nodded once and drove the horses around the house without even giving Henri a chance to pay him. _Strange. _He thought, but he decided not to complain. Instead he walked up to the big oak doors and took a deep breath. He took the knocker in one gloved had and hit the metal against the wood gingerly, as if he expected to be punished if he knocked too load. No one came. He tried again, harder, and a young manservant opened the door.

"_Bon soir._" Henri said nervously. "I'm here to have supper with Monsieur Brunet. Here's my invitation." He passed the paper to the manservant, who nodded and moved to allow the guest to enter.

"Monsieur is in the sitting room. I will take you there." A maid rushed out from nowhere and took Henri's coat, hat, scarf, and gloves and then disappeared again. The youth lead him up a three flights of stairs, down more halls than Henri could keep track of, and stopped in front of a wooden door. Henri's cut started burning again. The servant walked into the room beyond the door for a minute, then returned and nodded to Henri. "You may enter."

Henri stepped in slowly and the door closed behind him. The room was cozy and warm, with comfortable armchairs and a very soft carpet. There was a handsome table in the center of the room and a bookshelf full of fine books along one wall. A fire was roaring in the fireplace in the corner.

"Hello, Henri! It's wonderful to see you again. It really has been too long since I've had anyone over for dinner. Take a seat." There was a pause. "Are you alright, Henri?"

Henri felt like he was going to be sick on the beautiful carpet. Sitting in a chair on the other side of the table was Armand. His voice was still cheery as Henri remembered it, but he looked nothing like he had before. The skin on his face looked exactly like the burn on Madeline's leg, only worse. It looked like his face was going to drip off of his head at any moment. An inch or two of his hairline had been burned away and was only now beginning to grow back. At least the burn was starting to heal, but it was leaving terrible scars. Armand realized what Henri was staring at and tried to cover it with his hands.

"I'm sorry, Henri." He said through his fingers "I completely forgot! I haven't been getting any visitors lately, and I was so happy when I got your letter, I didn't think before I wrote you back. I apologize. I will not be offended if you leave."

Henri sighed. That was a very Armand-like thing to say. If someone in his presence showed any sign of discomfort or unhappiness, he would immediately think it was his fault and would apologize until someone explained that he had nothing to do with it. He also had a habit of blowing his own flaws out of proportion. It was a very rare trait amongst the rich.

"No, Armand, it's nothing." He reassured the other man and slipped into one of the chairs. "It was a bit of a shock, is all." Armand slowly took his hands away from his face. Henri showed no signs of fear or disgust, so he continued the way he would normally, as if nothing had happened.

"You probably find it a bit odd, that we're eating in the sitting room. I find the dining room too big and empty for a company of only two. The maids will be delivering our meal in a moment. Also, I have been feeling rather ill recently and walking all the way down to the dining room would be a bit too much for me."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

At that very moment a young maid walked in with two plates. She laid them in front of the men and scurried out again. Henri looked at the food and noted that it smelled better than anything he had cooked in his whole life. Armand lowered his voice.

"Henri, I can't help but to ask you . . . this has been bothering me for some time . . . how is Madeline these days?" Henri realized he was going to have to tell Armand eventually. He was going to have to stall. He knew very well that he was a terrible liar and would probably let it slip soon.

"He leg was starting to heal steadily, but it was a very rocky recovery." He said hesitantly.

"What do you mean by "was"?"

"Well, uh . . . you see, she . . . she was kidnapped last week, so I honestly don't know how she's holding up."

Armand dropped his fork on his plate with a load clatter. He stared up at Henri. "She was kidnapped?"

"Yes."

"Do the police know?"

"Yes. They called off the search yesterday morning."

"What? Why?"

Henri told him the whole story, from the time he got home on Tuesday to when he got the message from the police. Armand sat quietly, thinking, for a time before he stood up so fast Henri wondered how he got off without fainting.

"They called off the search! How dare they!" Henri was not surprised. Armand got very defensive when it came to people he cared about. "Oh Mary, they call themselves police men! Shall I have to give them instructions on how to search properly?" the rich man made for the door.

Henri knew that if Armand confronted the police, they would question both of them, and they may discover Erik. He leaped in front of Armand and barred his way to the door.

"We needn't go to the police!" he yelped.

"And why not?"

"Because . . ." Henri had no answer to that. His mind raced. He knew he would have to tell the truth. "Because I have a man more powerful than the army on my side."

"Why, Henri, how flattering." Another voice joined the conversation. _Oh no. _Henri thought. Erik seemed to have materialize by the door.

Armand raised an eyebrow. Without a word, he walked back to his armchair and flopped down. "Henri," he said, rubbing his temples "I know you've done so much explaining this past week, but will you please tell me what in the name of heaven is going on?"

**AN: _REVIEW!_**


	13. Settling In

**Disclaimer:** If I didn't own it last time, why would I own it now?

**I've noticed the fact that I talk about my personal life in my author's notes probably makes me sound like a ditz, but I can't stop! I always find myself reading books and thinking "I wonder how author's name here's life is going? I wish I had their phone number. Then I could call and ask. And then they would probably get the police involved to insure I'm not a stalker. Ooo! I've always wanted to meet the SWAT team!" which proves the theory that all writers are somewhat . . . different from normal people. Actually that may be just me. On second thought, that is just me.**

**Sorry if I don't update for the next three weeks, but I'm going out of town again. I know that's a long time, but trust me, I would never even think of abandoning this story!**

**Chapter 13: **Settling In

"So let me get this straight . . . While you were walking home from the hospital you heard the Phantom proclaiming his self-hate to the world and proceeded to take him in. After a few days he left and you discovered his true identity. While you were trying to get your life back to normal Madeline was pulled into the wall of a mysterious shop and once the police gave up hope you decided to go to the former murderer for help. You both suspected me so you organized an innocent enough seeming get-together so I would be distracted while the psychopath searches my house for any clues as to the whereabouts of my ex-fiancée."

"Yes. That's about it, in a nutshell." The room went very quite. Henri sat, praying silently that Armand would not do anything drastic. Erik stood in the corner, wondering why this rich nancy cared so much about the wellbeing of a certain middle-class girl.

"I'll go get my sword." Armand stood up and made his way to the door. The others stared after him.

"Why?" Henri asked.

"Well, you don't expect me to go off on a hunt for the men who kidnapped Madeline unarmed, do you?" the man exited, then returned a few minutes later wearing his sword belt.

"So you'll help us?" Henri said hopefully.

"Of course."

"I've a plan." Erik said suddenly. "Every day I will go out and search the old abandoned buildings or other suspicious places around town." no one asked why he knew where any were. "It will be best if I go alone. I have ways of insuring I escape unnoticed. If I find anything, I will contact you two immediately and we will go deal with them together. It would be too risky if I try to sneak her out without any help"

'"I can't think of anything better." Henri said "It's worth a try."

"Oh! I have an idea!" Armand piped up "You two could stay at my house! Genevieve can come too, Henri. That way, it will be easier for you to get information to us, Erik. I have lots of unoccupied rooms."

"I would prefer to say in my own home, thank you. I find it more . . . comfortable." Erik explained coolly.

"How about you, Henri?"

"I'd be delighted. That way, I wouldn't have to keep leaving Genevieve at her friends' houses while we go out. The servants will keep her out of trouble. It will also be nice to stop having to cook for myself for a few days." Henri laughed.

"Well then, now that that's settled," Armand sat down in his chair. "how about we finally eat dinner? I wonder if the maids will make another meal."

---

Later that night, Henri and Genevieve arrived at Armand's house. They stood out in the rain, waiting for someone to come to the door.

"Perhaps you didn't knock loud enough." Genevieve suggested, her voice muffled by the wool scarf that was covering her face. The temperature had dropped considerably over the past couple of hours. Her father tried again. There was no answer.

"Strange." He said "There are so many Servants. You'd think someone would have – Genevieve!" when he was in mid-sentence, the little girl had grown tired of waiting and had kicked the door rather violently.

"Open the door!" she yelled "It's freezing out here! What the h-"

"Genevieve!" Henri said sharply, covering her mouth with his hand "What on earth has gotten into you? You can't just scream and kick and people's doors and expect them to . . . hello, Virginia."

"Good evening, monsieur Boufard." Said the maid at the door. Henri had come to knew her fairly well when Armand and his own family's friendship had begun almost a year ago. She was young, but had been with the household for some time. "It's grand to see you again. Oh my, you must be freezing! Come in." they both grabbed their bags and gratefully stepped into the warm entrance hall. "Here, I'll show you to your rooms."

They were led down a hall, up a flight of stairs, and stopped in front of a rich oak door. Henri was glad that it did not take as much walking to get there as it had last time. Virginia opened the door to reveal a well-furnished bedroom, with canopy bed and expensive Persian rugs. _This one room probably costs more than my whole top floor . . . _

"Make yourself comfortable, Henri. If you need anything, just call. I'm sorry Monsieur Brunet could not greet you, but he is at an appointment. He will be back in a minute or two. Here, Genevieve dear, your room is just next door."

After the others had scurried out and the door had swung shut behind them, Henri shed his winter gear and hung them in the oak wardrobe. He sat down on the bed and let his mind wander.

His first thought was about Armand. He had barely asked any questions about Erik It had almost been as if he was avoiding contact will the Phantom. Henri could blame him; the last encounter between the two, Armand's face had been ruined. That was not the kind of thing you got over in a week or so. It burn was healing at a dreadfully slow pace, and even after he was fully recovered, the scars would remain. He would carry them for the rest of his life, forever condemning him to be the subject in many a cruel rumor among the rich. Henri was grateful to see that Armand had not been bothered about it yet. But he knew that sadly something would arise eventually, and it would take most of Armand's will power to ignore the whisperings. He was very sensitive about his faults. It was also possible that he would wind up in an argument with someone somehow and only put himself into more scandal. It was also possible that he would say something stupid any end up in a duel.

Suddenly something dawned on Henri. If Erik, Armand, and himself were going to free Madeline from her captures, they were most likely going to have to fight their way through a vicious gang first. The closest thing to a weapon Henri had ever held in his life was probably one of the tiny knives used to cut leather so it could be made into shoes. He had absolutely no experience with a sword, dagger, or pistol. The last time he had tried to fight another person with his bare hands he had been a six year old against an eleven year old. Henri had been short for his age until he was ten. He could not remember the days following the fight very well, he just knew it had been a long time before he could play many of his favorite games again.

"Henri?" there was a knock at the door. "It's Armand. May I come in?" the shoemaker got up and opened the door.

"I'm so sorry I could not see you as soon as I got here. I had a doctor's appointment." Henri noticed that Armand's burn seemed to be coated in some kind of sweet-smelling transparent goop. The two men sat down in the armchairs by the window.

"Something about that burn, I assume?"

"Yes."

"It looks terribly painful." Armand shrugged.

"It's mainly just irritating now. I've been given so many creams for it. It's not healing the way it should, you see, and my physician is getting very obsessive. As long as I have some kind of medication on it, it doesn't bother me, but he keeps asking "Are you in pain? Are you keeping it clean? Are you uncomfortable? Perhaps I shall hire a nurse to stay at your home . . ." lord, it's like having a nanny!"

The two men laughed. Henri thought it felt wonderful after so much time spent cooped up in his house, angry and worried and working his fingers off. At the sound of their laughter, Genevieve entered the room.

"What's so funny?" she demanded. As soon as he heard her voice, Armand's gaze shot in her direction.

"Genny!" he cried. He stood up and she raced into his arms. She twirled her around as she giggled profusely. Henri smiled. He had not seen her this happy in almost a week. She was not hindered Armand's face. The two had been very good friends. Genevieve treated him like an uncle. Henri had only one sister, because his brother had died of pneumonia when they had been children, and she lived in Belgium. His parents were getting on in years and had moved to the countryside in the east. Opale's parents (he had never really had a chance to meet her siblings) lived in a small village and planned to live out the rest of their years there, like his own mother and father. He kept contact with them all by writing to them every couple of moths and on important occasions, but they still didn't know about the kidnap. Since their family was very spread out, they only ever saw them every second or third Christmas. Friends were more like family to them.

Armand put Genevieve down. She stood and stared up at the man for a moment.

"What are you staring at?" the rich man asked.

"Your face. It looks kind of like Erik's."

"Does it really?" Armand walked over to a mirror hanging on the wall. He clearly had been avoiding looking at the burn. He squinted his eyes and gazed at his reflection. "I do, don't I, in some places." Henri noticed it too. The area which had healed quicker than the rest (especially the part near his left ear) looked like the phantom's disfigurement, only lighter. The skin on half his forehead and down the side of his face on the right looked raw and irritated, like Erik's.

"Oh, Armand, I need to ask you a favor." Said, Henri, seeing his discomfort. "You know how we will most likely have to fight in order to get Madeline back?"

"Yes. I polished my sword this afternoon."

"Well, you see, I was brought up in a peaceful middle-class neighborhood and didn't have much access to lessons or anything of that nature and never had the time or money to teach myself when I grew older . . . so how exactly am I going to fight if I haven't the faintest idea how?"

"That," Armand laughed "Would be the reason I own more than one weapon and a very large yard to practice on."

**REVIEW MY ANGELS OF READING!**


	14. The Cage

**I AM SO SO SO SOOOOOOOOOO SORRY I TOOK THIS LONG TO UPDATE!**

**That felt surprisingly good. I was out of town so much this summer; I've been so damn busy. I feel absolutely dreadful about making you all wait this long. But that makes me sound selfish, like I think I'm such a good writer . . . but half the time all I do is criticize myself! Now all I'm doing is annoying everyone with my own problems. I'll shut up.**

**Anyway, I just realized that you don't know how old some of my characters are. Genevieve is 9, Madeline is 18, Armand is 22, Erik is 37, and Henri is 41. That's just if you were wondering. Also, the new EXTREMELY IMPORTANT CHARACTER in this chapter is 50.**

**Yes, Madeline lives on in this chapter! Haza! I made this installment extra long for your reading pleasure.**

**And just out of random curiosity (a.k.a. a desperate attempt to get more reviews) can anyone guess what language the new character in this chapter is speaking?**

**This chapter is dedicated to my cousin Paul.**

**Chapter 14: **The Cage

Madeline wanted to kill them. She would sit in her cage and glare at them all day, imagining herself slip through the bars and smashing the guard's head with his own ax. She hoped the earth would open up and swallow them whole so they would fall into Hell so as they burned she could run free. She hoped all of them would be hung, drawn, and quartered. She willed all of them to catch the Red Death so they would squirm and writhe on the floor in agony as blood spilled from their mouths and ears and eyes and nostrils and every pore on their bodies until there was no more blood left inside of them to bleed.

She especially wanted their leader to suffer these fates. He was the one who had put this operation together. He had done things to her she would never forgive. She hadn't seen him in about a day. He had a gang of ten men he had hired to kidnap her and they were now taking turns guarding her room. _He's probably out getting drunk._

Suddenly the man sitting by the door stood up to show respect. _That can only mean one thing . . ._

"Hello, _neska ederra_. How are you this afternoon?"

Bakar walked in. He was the leader. He was tall and wore a black mask so she didn't know what he looked like. Madeline glared at him with utter loathing.

"Oh, _zisne_, why don't you move out from that corner? I can't see your beautiful face." Madeline crawled forward a few inches. "Ah, there you are." He leaned forward to look in through the bars like she was some animal at a zoo.

"Monsieur?" the thug by the door asked stupidly "Should I leave?"

"Do you like being male, or would you rather be a woman?" Bakar sneered. The thug disappeared do the hall. His boss turned back to the girl in the cage. "Why ever do you look so unhappy, _perfektu lore_? Is there something you need?"

"Air." She said simply.

"Air, you say? Are you having trouble breathing?" a hint of bitterness crept into his fake sweet voice.

"This cage." She continued to stare at him.

"Oh! Of course! I forgot to let you out this morning, didn't I? Goodness, however did I forget?" He took a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the cage door. She crawled forward and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her out all the way. She stood and stretched her aching back. He didn't let go of her arm. She knew he never would.

"_Uso_, I have not heard I good song in a long while." He cooed "I miss your voice. Why don't you sing that wonderful aria again. What was it called . . . Ah . . . Ah per-something . . . Ah Perfido, that's it!"

Madeline had not had anything to drink all day. She knew she wouldn't be able to sing when her throat was so dry. "I'm thirsty." She realized the mistake she had made too late. A hand came down and slapped her face with a load _snap_.

"Did you just complain?" he shook her "Did you just complainto me, _ematze_?" Madeline knew he was going to punish her now. He had used a word in his native tongue, and this time it was not flattery.

"I've treated you like a queen this whole time and you complain?" he slapped her again. "You listen to me: I feed you, give you wine, give you your own room, give you everything you could possibly want, and you won't sing for me this once?" she didn't think one could hardly count saying 'I'm thirsty' as complaining, but she knew what would happen if she said anything. Bakar was yelling at her in his strange language again. He threw her back into her cage and locked the door. He took his whip from its place on the wall and snapped it threateningly a few times. "Disobey me again and I will be forced to use this." He stormed out of the room, stopping briefly only to tell the guard not to feed Madeline for the rest of the day.

She crawled to the corner of her prison and curled up in a ball. Her cheeks stung. He had punished her a yesterday, too, after she had told him the cage was uncomfortable and asked for some straw to lie on. That time he had used the whip. Her back was still stinging from the lashes. He had used it many times before. Whoever the man was, he was definitely not right in the head. He acted like he was better than everybody else, but sometimes she got the impression he hated himself.

He disappeared for most of the day and returned every few hours, allowing her to stretch outside the cage for a few minutes. As for the food, it was scraps from Bakar's meals; he had tried to get her drunk on a bottle of wine that tasted just like she had always assumed urine tasted like. The room she slept in was windowless and was guarded all day. When he said that he had given her everything she could possibly want, he meant that he didn't have enough time to go and find a woman who actually loved him. Madeline figured that even if he tried, every girl in France would refuse him.

She hated him. She hated the men he hired. Now she hated her own body. She hated her life. She wanted to die.

She tried to think of someone else to ease her pain. Her father was the first to come to mind. She could see his grey eyes gazing back at hers, sadder than they ever had been before. He was miserable. Madeline didn't like it. She tried to block out the picture of Henri by thinking of Genevieve. Her sister was so confused right now. _Where's Maddi? _the little girl was wondering. _Who took her? What did they do to her? Where is she? Has she died? _The questions made Madeline uneasy. Armand was too painful to think about right now. Someone else . . .

Erik. She could see him now: his strong body and perfect bone structure. She remembered that night at the opera house, when he had wore that handsome sleek black wig. She thought about his real hair, how it caught the light and made her think of fresh, clean hay and the wonderful smell it had. She thought of how he barely talked, and how mysterious he seemed. And his mask . . . she wondered what his life had been like, to make him think that he had to hide his face like that. She had seen it twice now, and his face wasn't nearly as hideous as people made it out to be.

And she couldn't help but admit that he was a better kisser than Armand.

---

Erik staked down the hallway, careful to stay in the shadows. This was the third day he had spent searching old abandoned houses. All the ones he had looked at so far only contained stray cats, spiders, and the occasional group of men who had passed out on the floor from drinking, along with various other reasons.

But he could tell this building was different. On the first floor, there had been men walking around as if they were on patrol at a prison. Upstairs, Erik could hear talking and laughing. He used the same method he had used downstairs to search the rooms. It seemed as if whoever had owned this building last had one day decided to put their foot through many of the walls, sometimes more than once. When Erik had discovered this, he could not believe how convenient it was. In the other houses, trying to get into each room without knowing what was inside proved to be tedious and a hassle. Now, he could just look in through the holes. Much more subtle.

Erik approached the wall and crouched so he was level with the hole, yet prepared to bolt if he had to. He gazed into the room beyond.

It was a dark room. Erik had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust. When it didn't seem as dim, he saw the space looked a bit like a study. There was a book shelf filled with old books in one corner of the tiny place. In another corner there was a desk with a small light. Erik could see a man hunched over some papers on the desk. He could not see the other man's face because his back was turned, but Erik could tell he was frustrated. He was leaning on his hand, his fingers entangled in his dark hair. He scribbled something down on the paper, then grumbled and scratched it out. He was still for a moment, then he stood up and began pacing back and forth, murmuring in a strange language all the while. Erik got a chance to look at his features. As soon as he did, he stepped away from the hole and rushed for the next hole.

It was the man Antoinette had described to him, the one who had shot him, mask and all.

It took a moment before he set himself straight again. _Spending so much time away from my lair must have made me softer. _Erik mused as he crouched by the next hole.

This time, the room on the other side of the wall was noisy and full. There was a group of men, about five or six of them, sitting around a table playing a game of cards. All of them were yelling and laughing in a boisterous, drunken fashion. The room smelled of unwashed bodies and rotting wood. As Erik watched, the thugs laid their cards out. One of them gave a cry of triumph and pulled the pile of coins in the middle of the table closer to his body. The others glared at him. One of them stood up and started accusing the winner of cheating. The other losers joined in. The winner protested his innocence and jumped toward the thug who accused him first and hit him hard in the gut. The others all leaped forward and before long the whole room was filled with the sounds of fighting. Erik could see that Madeline was not present among the fighting thugs, so he decided to move on.

The next hole was fairly big, about half the height of his torso, and the same width. He kneeled once again and looked in.

Straight ahead, he could see the bars of a cage. He realized that the hole was between the bars of a cage that was pressed up against the wall. Three bars actually ran right over the gap. On the other side of the room, by the door, there sat another thug. This one, though, was sound asleep. His heart began to race. If there was someone guarding the door (or someone who was supposed to be guarding the door), than chances were that something or someone was in the cage he was looking into right now . . .

He turned his gaze to the right and almost cried out. There sat Madeline, staring strait at him. Her expression was confused. Erik had no idea what to say. They stared at each other's eyes for a long time. The Phantom noticed that she did not look well at all. Her face was tired and her hair was messy and unkempt. Her clothes looked as if she had thrown them on in a mad hurry. Her dress was stained with blood and other grime. The bandages on her leg were gone. Her burn was fully visible. It had not improved in the least.

"Erik." Madeline said finally. It was not a question. It was a statement. She was stating the truth. Erik was here, right now. She knew him. He was the Phantom of the opera. He had been part of her life before this hell. She had been thinking about him, mere minutes before. And he was there in the flesh, gazing at her through a hole in the wall. She wanted to make sure he was real, that he wasn't a dream this time. But she was afraid to touch him. He would disappear as soon as her fingers brushed his skin.

_Get a hold of yourself, Madeline! _A voice said in the back of her mind. _Your life is currently a nightmare, but it is real. Erik seems like a dream, so what's stopping him from truly existing?_

Madeline realized that was her real voice talking to her. Not the voice of her fears.

Erik had, for the first time in his life, no idea how to respond. He had planned everything, except for how he was going to talk to Madeline. Suddenly, she started to crawl in his direction. She kneeled in front of him. Her face was now stern and focused, as it had been the day she had pushed him down the stairs. Erik realized how long ago that seemed to have been. It was a distant memory now. He had to stay in the present.

"I live in hell." The young woman said flatly. "I hate my life. I want to die. And I've been dying to say that out load for so very long." She burst into sobs.

Erik felt terribly stupid. This was moving far quicker than he was able to keep up. He managed to keep a calm expression, but inside he panicked. He had no idea how he was going to console her. He had never done such a thing, and no one had ever done it for him. His mind raced back to all the books he'd read. Had there ever been an instance like this in one of those novels? All the characters he could think of would've comforted each other by kissing intimately for about a quarter of an hour straight. That was clearly not an option.

Suddenly he remembered something he had seen at the traveling fair. It had been after a show one day. Everyone was leaving the tent and Javert was too busy picking up money from the ground to be watching his exhibit. Erik had watched a mother with two twin children leave. The siblings were about three. The little girl was crying. Her brother had hugged her in that sweet, clumsy way young children do. Their mother had knelt down, whispering reassuring words and stroking the girl's hair and face tenderly. The family had left the tent holding hands.

Erik knew it would make him feel childish. But then he remembered Genevieve. She was only nine years old, but she had not been disturbed by the prospect of being a hostess to a murderer. And she had a love, a strange and wonderful impulse to care for people. He wondered if all children were like that.

He hesitated, then reached out and took her hand. She didn't look up. Slowly he reached in again with the other hand. This time, he cupped her face in his hand. It was awkward, but what else could he do? Madeline stopped sobbing and looked up at him. There was another pause. Then she jerked away from him and crawled away.

"Please . . . don't touch me, Erik." She said.

Something in his stomach did a back flip. It made him feel sick, but not the fever-type sick. It was like something big and heavy was pushing down on his intestines. He felt _concerned_.

"What have they done to you, Maddi?" Erik used her pet name unconsciously.

She told him all about Bakar and his whip and all the terrible things that had taken place since he had seen her last.

"It's torture, Erik. I'm not allowed to leave this cage unless Bakar let's me out. And still, He keeps a firm grip on my arm. I hate him, Erik."

"Listen, Madeline." He took her hand again. "When I was a child . . . well, I know what it's like to have no freedom. I have known for a long time. In a way, I was not truly free until your father took me from the rubble of the opera house."

Something caught Erik's attention. He heard footsteps. They were distant, but coming in their direction.

"Madeline, I must leave you now. At eleven o'clock tonight, Henri and Armand and I are going to get you out of here." Madeline nodded. Erik was about to go, but she stopped him.

"I . . ." Erik looked at her patiently "Tell . . . tell Papa I love him. And Genevieve."

"I will." Without thinking, he leaned into the hole and kissed her briefly on the temple.

She watched him rush away. She felt a wave of something that could be considered happiness rush over her. She was going to be free!

She knew she was in Erik's debt now. That day she had given her a bit of relief. He had been the realest, truest, loveliest thing she had known for a long time.

**Will the trio be able to save Madeline? Will Bakar fight back? Will Henri be able to fight by then? Why does turkey make you sleepy? Find out in the next chapter of: Petals of a Grey Rose!**


	15. Preparation

**Hi all! Wow, the school has started already! Ack . . . where did the summer go? Oh well . . . I got in a descent class this year, like a class that actually talks to me. Ya. Last year SUCKED.**

**Also, I watched the movie yesterday, so my memory has been refreshed. Yay! I now have a weird liking for the phantom's shoes. At the very end, when he steps through the mirror, you see his shoes. I don't know why, but I love them. They make me really happy.**

**There is some fencing in this chapter. I'm sorry if I use the wrong terminology, etc. If there are any fencers out there, please don't yell at me! I only took a 90 minute workshop! But I also give a reason for why they're not following some of the rules of the sport, so I ask you that you at least consider that.**

**Anyway, here's chapter 15!**

**Chapter 15: **Preparation

"Armand, I really don't feel safe doing this . . ."

"Henri, for the past few days all I've been doing is _showing_ you stances and _telling _you the rules, and you've been repeating them back. Now, see, we're actually going to _practice_."

Armand led Henri up the stairs and opened the door with more energy than he really needed. Henri felt the familiar sick feeling that came with being nervous. Over the three days since they had made their plan with Erik, Armand had been teaching Henri the basics of defending himself. Today, they were going to put the Henri's new fencing skills to practice; though Henri had serious doubts about whether he really had those skills at all. They had been doing basic moves together, but today was the first official bought.

The practice space was really a large flat part of the roof that would normally have been used for a garden. In wintertime, though, the plants were taken inside, so Armand used it as his fencing area. The ice and snow had been cleared off and a bin containing the swords sat in a corner.

"So, er . . . Armand, explain to me again why must we used sharpened swords. Wouldn't it be better to use blunt stage ones or foils, perhaps?"

"Well," Armand was shifting through the bin "I don't own any blunt weapons anyway. I used to have some foils, but they disappeared one night about a week or so ago when I returned from the hospital." Armand drew one blade from its scabbard and handed it to Henri "That same night, one of the stable hands ran off without a trace, save the few things he took with him, including my fencing equipment. Some of my sharpened swords were taken as well. Some of them family heirlooms." He sighed. "He was a funny man, that stable hand. He was older than me, and barely ever talked. He only stayed a few months, though. Can't quite recall his name . . . he wasn't French or English . . ."

Henri wasn't really listening. He was too busy wondering what would happen is he were to loose a limb. _Would Genevieve be able to fix that?_

Armand straightened up and turned to face Henri. He looked concerned.

"Are you feeling quite alright, Henri?"

"Y-yes, I am fine."

"Are you certain? You look petrified."

"Why don't we just get this over with? It's very close to supper time."

"I suppose."

Suddenly they were fighting. On the word "suppose", Armand had lunged at the other man. Henri jumped to the side just in time. Henri's mind wheeled. Armand, his good friend, was trying to _kill _him! He panicked for a moment. Armand lunged again, and Henri managed to avoid the blow again. He tried to gather his wits. _This man is not trying to kill me. He is trying to help me by teaching me how to defend myself . . ._

The bout did not really advance at all for a little while. It was just Henri dodging and trying to find a chance to catch Armand off guard. There were not many. Armand, on the other hand, seemed very enthusiastic about the whole thing.

Finally, Henri saw his chance. After every lunge, he noted, Armand would take a split second to readjust his position. If he made his timing just right . . .

He stepped forward stuck the sword out in front of him. He watched with fascination as it poked into the coat that was covering Armand's stomach. He stared in amazement as in sunk into the fabric and kept going, and going, until he saw red spill. Henri recognized he had won the fight . . . he had a chance . . . Madeline had a chance . . . he had defeated Armand with his own skill . . . **he had stabbed Armand!**

Henri snapped back to reality. He dropped the sword with a clatter. Armand's hands flew to his stomach and he doubled over.

"OH MY GOD! I'VE KILLED!" Henri panicked. He felt himself go lightheaded. He had stabbed one of his closest friends. He could see blood beneath Armand's fingers.

"No . . . oh, no, no . . ."

"Henri."

"Oh Lord, he's going to die!"

"Henri."

"I've stabbed my dearest friend!"

"Henri?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry Armand! Whatever can I do to be redeemed?"

"Henri! I am not going to die!" Armand was half laughing, half groaning in pain. Henri took a second to get a hold of himself, and then he walked up to his friend and helped him stand.

"I apologize. I don't know what happened . . . I just sort of . . . let my thoughts take me away. I was paying attention, but I wasn't, if you catch my meaning. How bad is it?"

"Not too, serious, I don't think." He sat down and leaned against the wall. Henri joined him. "I don't doubt I shall survive. It's mostly shock, really. I didn't believe you were capable of that kind of violence, is all. And it is painful." Armand chuckled.

"Well, I suppose this means that he will be able to help us in our undertaking. One could consider this a step forward."

Both men turn to see a familiar shadow jumping down from the roof and landing on the snow a few paces away.

"Erik!" they cried in unison. The masked man walked over and crouched in front of them.

"Yes, it is me, and yes, Henri, I do know of your daughter's whereabouts."

Henri froze. She was alive! Erik knew where she was! Relief poured into him.

"How is she?" he demanded.

There was a pause.

"You may not like the truth, Henri."

"How is she?"

"The word "traumatized" describes her current state disturbingly well."

"Oh." Henri was not really surprised. Still, though, the warmth of relief he had felt moments before disintegrated. Erik's face tensioned. Henri could tell he was trying to hide is emotions and was overdoing it. It seemed rather out of character.

"I told her eleven o'clock." Erik continued. This did not need an explanation. "It is six o'clock now."

"We should eat now, since we know we can be confident about Henri's skills." Armand chuckled.

---

Before they ate, Genevieve's father found her in the guest room she was using. She was sitting on the bed, reading.

"Genny, is it alright if I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yes, Papa." He closed the door quietly and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Erik came back."

"Oh! Where is he?" the girl said excitedly.

"You can see him at supper. He found Madeline." The room was very quite for a minute.

"How is she?"

"Erik . . ." Henri paused for a moment. "Erik said she was . . . wasn't in the best of conditions."

"Oh."

The silence dominated once again.

"At eleven o'clock Armand and Erik and I are going to try to rescue her."

"I'm coming to!"

"No."

"But Papa-"

"I said no, Genny." He said sternly. "I've lost too much already. You are not going to disappear too. Do you hear me?"

"I could-"

"For the love of Christ, Genevieve, no! You are not coming with me!" he yelled. Both of them were shocked. The man realized what he had said and was immediately feeling guilty. Genevieve looked at him tearfully. He barely ever shouted at her. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Genny. I shouldn't have snapped, it's that just things have been so hard lately. I don't want you to get hurt, that's all." He stood up. "Well, It's time for dinner." He was halfway across the room when he heard a small voice calling him.

"Papa? I know it's been a while, but could you maybe give me a ride down, please?"

He couldn't help but to smile at that. He walked to the bed and crouched with his back to her. She wrapped her little arms around his neck. He grabbed her legs and stood up. She gave a tiny giggle in delight. He carried her all the way down to the dining room. He knew there had to be some etiquette thing that discouraged such behavior. _I'm sure Armand will forgive me _he thought.

---

Erik had always enjoyed snow. As a child he would watch other people doing all sort of things with it; snow angels, ice skating, snowmen, snowball fights. It always seemed to bring a happy feeling on the Earth, or a chance for people to be together. For the Phantom, it had always made him think, remember. He walked across Armand's vast property and let the gentle weather take its effect.

The meal had ended fifteen minutes ago. It had been so strange to Erik, eating with other people like that. Like they were family. True, they had eaten lunch together before, but they had been talking that whole time, planning how they were going to organize their rescue. Erik hadn't eaten anything that day. He had never been one for food. As a child he had been forced to go for days with only being fed some old burnt bread crusts, which over time had become habit. Most days he would eat once, but no more. He had no need for it. It kept him alive, and he needed nothing more. At the opera house, though, in his free time, he would practice in the kitchen and make very impressive dishes indeed, then Christine would sample them and . . .

Christine.

It had been so long since he had thought of her. He had been so caught up in the recent havoc of his life that he hadn't truly had a chance. He knew now he would never be with her. He also realized that he had never really known her. She had been more of a figurehead than a lover. She had represented everything he had ever yearned for: music, passion, beauty, hope . . . well, close to everything. She had been a child. No more than that. She lived in a world made of care and fairytales and promises. He had none of those. Those were not things Erik really needed. He wanted someone more powerful; someone whose world would mix well with Erik's, where neither of the two would really change much, and any dramatic change at all would be for the better. He did not want for someone naïve or childlike. He need someone who would laugh, comfort, help, and cry should the need arise. Someone who understood pain and was brave. Someone who spoke their opinion and had the wonderfully inconvenient habit of going against the grain.

Someone like Madeline.

---

Armand cleaned the sword over and over again. He didn't really need to anymore, but his mind was too far away to notice. He had been scrubbing at the metal for about forty minutes now. There were no traces of blood on it any longer, and there hadn't been for a while. It just kept his hands busy and gave him time to think.

Henri had been better at fighting than he had suspected. True, it had taken him some time to strike, but when he had it had been fairly effective. He had gone to Genevieve about the gash. As he had expected, it was not too serious. It would bleed a bit and cause a bit of discomfort, but that was all. It was a mystery, really, that child's knowledge of medicine. It was clear she was going on instinct alone. It was almost unbelievable, her power. It was like she was character from a very badly written children's novel, where everything worked to the protagonist's convenience even if the helping factors made no honest sense.

The fencing bout had felt so strange to Armand. In the real sport of fencing, one would never attack so relentlessly. But Armand didn't believe a bunch of kidnappers would go by the proper regulations. _When this whole mess is done, I shall have to teach henri how to use a sword accurately._

_That is, hoping we both some out alive._

**Coming up next . . . the climatic battle! La gasp!**


	16. The Struggle

**At last! Today is a monumental day. It is the day I finally release a climatic battle for the world to see for the first time. Oh how very, very exciting! SQUEL! (cough) anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

**This is kinda random, but the other day I was at a local horse show and there was one horse that was all dark bay except for the right side of his face, which was white. I laughed.**

**Also, I noticed that there's a factual error in my fic (le gasp!). In the 1800's in France, they would've used the 24 hour clock. So in this chapter, they're saving Madeline at 23h00.**

**BTW, I did realize that any old idiot could do what Henri did with a sword (thank you, HPFanatic2478, for being blunt with me). I need to work on that whole "obvious ignorance" thing. Just pretend he has skills, ok?**

**Chapter 16: **The Struggle

It was like Henri had swallowed a stone, the feeling he had now as he adjusted his sword belt. They were in the sitting room, getting ready. Erik was watching him. The taller man showed no emotion on his face. He had his own rapier at his hip, covered by the black cloak he was wearing. Armand was pulling on his gloves. Genevieve sat next to her father, also stolid. Henri checked his watch. 22h28.

"It's almost half past." He said, breaking the silence.

"Well, I'm ready." said Armand in an unnaturally cheery voice. _Why is that man always so happy?_ Henri asked in his mind. He stood, and the four made their way to the door.

"Genny," Henri kneeled by his daughter "We're leaving now. Promise me you'll be good."

Genevieve looked at the floor and didn't respond.

"We must go now." Erik said quietly, but also urgently.

"I love you." Henri said and kissed Genevieve's forehead. Then he straightened up and the three men left the house together.

From outside, they could see the faces of the servants glancing out the windows, bidding them a silent farewell. They all knew how dangerous this was going to be. They had all heard stories about groups of police officers going into the recently-discovered headquarters of a gang, and none of them coming out in a good way, if they came out at all. Based on the description Erik gave them, though, there was a chance their enemies would be too drunk to fight well. Although, the problem with that was that they might be drunk enough to fight well. And their leader sounded rather powerful. He had a gun. Erik had told them about how he had tried to shoot him, and had showed them his arm, which had not yet fully healed. Swords weren't going to save them from a bullet.

Armand drummed his fingers on the pommel of his one of his swords nervously (he had two, one on each side). He had never gone on a rescue mission before. All his experience with fighting had been organized, honorable sport. These men weren't going to follow the rules of fencing. He sighed silently. _If I die, it shall be for a good cause._

Snow began to fall as they entered the sketchier part of the city. It sparkled in the light of the streetlamp and landed harmlessly on the trio's heads. Henri gazed at it and remembered a time, only two years ago, that had been much like this, at least whether wise anyway. It had been Christmas Eve and the family had just returned home from mass. They hadn't even gone up to the apartment when someone knocked on the shop door. Carolers. The group had decided to go house to house along the street as they made their way home. Most of them were people they knew. Regular visitors at the shop were there, like M. Anatole Lavent and old Mme. Grinçante. Some of Madeline's friends were there. Same with Genevieve's, only their parents were accompanying them. After they sang a few songs, Henri escorted them all upstairs. There they moved at the chairs in the house into the living room and started a large fire in the fireplace. They all sat and chatted and laughed and sang as drinks were handed around. It was the sort of picture you saw on Christmas cards, with everyone being merry with no cares in the world and sitting like one big family. _Will those times ever come again?_

Erik led the band, beckoning them to follow him into hiding places as they got closer and closer to their destination. He didn't have time to let his mind wander. The other two men obeyed his every command. When they were told to run, they ran. Soon, Erik discovered it was hard for him to keep his hood covering his mask completely at all times. It reflected the eerie glow of the street lights, so it was quite noticeable. Finally, he took a deep breath and removed it while they were crouching in a doorway and tucked it safely into his cloak. _It is time for reality and I to meet face to face._

---

The trio stood in a black alleyway next to a two storey building that looked like it was going to collapse if the wind blew at all. There were holes in the wall and the windows were empty frames, all the glass lying on the street outside. The creaks it made sounded almost like moaning. Sometimes, it almost seemed to be swaying back and forth.

"My daughter is in there?"

"Yes. What were you expecting?"

Henri didn't know how to answer. It didn't matter though, because Erik started whispering to them. "I'm going inside. Stand across the street. When I want you to follow me, I'll wave to you from that window to the left of the front door. Have your weapons ready." He ran off. The others followed his orders and stood on the opposite side of the road.

Erik drew his rapier and stepped inside slowly. Nothing moved or made sound. He advanced forward another few strides. He listened hard. He heard talking upstairs, but the lower level was silent. He decided to search it, just to be safe.

He walked down the hall, hiding in the shadows. He checked all the rooms except for one. There was no one in any of them. _How lucky._ He made his way to the final room where the window from which he was to signal from was. He crept in as he had done before to a dark corner and scanned the room. Nothing had been ruffled by his entry. Then, by the window, he saw a man sitting asleep in a chair that was against the wall. He snored quietly. Erik saw that he had a sword and a dagger on his belt. He was clearly supposed to be on duty. Erik was clearly supposed to get rid of him.

The Phantom raised his blade and came quite close to slicing through the watch's throat, when something stopped him. "You're about to kill someone." A voice said.

_Yes, I've done that before. _He shifted his grip and was about to strike when he heard it again. "You are going to end a complete stranger's life."

"I've been spending too much time with other people." He mused. He chuckled and adjusted his position again. He shifted his foot. The floorboard beneath him gave an inconvenient groan. The other man startled and sat bolt upright. Erik stepped back into the shadows. The guard saw him briefly before he disappeared. He stood and unsheathed his weapons. He glanced nervously around the room. Erik pulled his cloak tighter. The floor groaned beneath him. The stranger wheeled around and pointed his sword at the shadows. He still didn't see Erik, but the latter could see him very well. The watch's eyes were darting about, still hinted with sleepiness. He advanced, searching for his unseen foe.

Erik was sure he was beginning to see the outline of his form when a very well-timed wind shook the whole building, making the shutters bang and walls quiver. The guard turned for a split second, and Erik found his chance. He leapt from the corner and pinned the man face-down on the floor, his hood thrown back and his face fully exposed. The guard's head was turned and his left eye stared terrified at the disfigurement. Erik was poised to sever several important veins that connected to the brain when he once again found himself frozen. He remembered a time when he was being chased by a mob, a mob that would have shot him in the back like and animal without a second thought. Was this going to be part of his victory? Murdering a completely defenseless man he didn't even know? If they had been in a swordfight, maybe, but now?

Erik decided the best way to remedy this situation was to simply knock the guard unconscious. He was about to do this when he felt a heavy weight hit him from the side. Before he could respond, he was struck again and fell away from the guard who was lying on the ground. His former captive ran out of sight. Erik felt the attack again. He lunged at his attacker with his sword. A surprised yell filled the room and the enemy fell. Erik scamper to the window and waved at the huddled figures across the street.

For a moment, he thought he saw something run from the shadows of an alley and out of sight.

---

_Tonight_. They were coming to save her very soon. Madeline had stopped caring about whether or not she was truly saved. She could die, and it wouldn't matter. But the thought of someone caring, someone trying to save her from a life with her terrible kidnapper, made all the difference in the world. She knew that things were not going to become brighter again for a while after. She considered something else. _I'll need to tell Papa sometime. I can't hide it for more than a month. I wonder how he will react._

Bakar burst in. The door slammed against the wall and made her jump. He barked some orders to the guard and he stood by the door and stared blankly at the air in front of him. Bakar opened the cage and crouched in front of the entrance.

"Good evening, _eder_. I noticed the moon is wonderfully bright. It's very romantic." He reached in and wrapped his fingers around Madeline's wrist. "I am horribly lonely _bihotzeko_. I'm sure you are too, staying in this cage all day long." He tugged on her arm and tried to pull her out. Madeline remembered his wrath earlier that day. There was no way he would be this kind now unless he had something planned again. She grabbed a bar at the back of the cage. The man frowned. "Oh, _kutun_, I forgot. I apologize for how I acted this morning. I was very unfair to you. I haven't gotten much sleep lately. It's been very cold." He tried to pull her out again. She held fast.

"I'm still thirsty." She tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. _They're coming soon._

"I remembered that" He reached into a pouch around his waist and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Here. It's the finest in this whole district." He offered it to her. She refused. "It's quite tasty." He removed the cork. She could smell the raw spirits. One third of that bottle was enough to make her giddily intoxicated. She decided she was going to have to find a new distraction if she wish to rekindle any of her dignity at all. She crawled out. They stood, Bakar all the time holding her wrist tight. The young woman made an effort to act interested in him. It pleased him. She took a deep breath. On the other hand, things couldn't get much worse. There was no point in delaying anything. She might as well try to stand up for herself.

"I hate you."

He froze and glared at her. Did I miss hear you, _ematze_?"

"No."

Bakar flew into a rage. He slapped her, hard. "I do not take attitude, _puta_!" He dragged her with him as he reached for his whip and removed it from its hook. Madeline remained stolid. As he was ripping open the back of her bodice, though, she heard the distant chime of church bells, tolling the hour **(A/N: please don't take that whole bodice thing the wrong way)**. She counted. _One. Two. Three._

Whack. _Four. _Whack. The blows sped up. Madeline ignored the pain and listened to the toll something about it kept her from feeling the whip's sting, that kept her sane.

_Twnety-one. _Whack. _Twenty-two. _Whack. _Twenty-three._

"Sir! Downstairs! There's someone trying to get up here. One's already cut Jacques, badly, too."

Madeline became the happiest person alive.

Bakar pushed the girl back into her cage. "How many?" he demanded.

"Three."

"Four of you, go down. The rest had better get here as fast as they can."

---

Armand had taken about six steps inside the old building when four thugs rushed down the stairs straight at him.

"Stand next to me! Draw your sword!" Henri hurried into position. One of the other men tripped on the last step and landed heavily on his face. The others leaped over him and attacked.

Henri found himself locked in a battle with another swordsman. The enemy was eager to draw blood. Henri didn't have time to fear for his life. He blocked for a long time, waiting for the opportune moment. Armand was against the two others still standing. They had a foot-long dagger and two clubs for weapons. The man with the clubs was trying to hit Armand on the head while the other was feverishly stabbing at his torso. After a minute or so the fallen one reappeared again and went to attack Henri. Luckily, he was completely drunk. Henri tried very hard not to laugh when he missed his target and ran straight into a wall.

The other man fighting with him, though, was a bit more aware. For the instant Henri was distracted, he slashed at him. Henri gasped and stumbled, grasping at his stomach. It took him a moment or two to realize he wasn't bleeding at all. His shirt wasn't even ripped. There had been force behind the blow, enough that could have killed him. Why wasn't he dying? He looked at the sword. It was a blunt practice blade. This gave the shoemaker more confidence. He struck out and hit the opposite man in the shoulder. The brute yelp and dropped his dull sword. Henri whacked him firmly in the head with his pommel, and he staggered backward and fell heavily to the floor. Henri felt more powerful then he ever had.

Armand's attackers had not noticed their fallen comrade. Henri forced his blade forward and thrust it hard into the man with the dagger's upper arm. Giving a cry of pain, the thug turned around the see Henri raise his arm and hit him firmly on the head. No matter how strong the father felt, he wasn't prepared to take a life.

Erik ran in at that point. He had been in the other room, completely winded. And he would not be surprised if his rib was cracked again. Not that that mattered. He saw the man with clubs beating Armand, so he ran and struck him on the skull **(A/N: that's happening a lot, isn't it?)**

The trio looked at the men on the ground before them. The drunk was still conscious, but he was muttering nonsense at the floor, so they decided it would be best not to bother him. Henri looked over to Erik. His hood was down and he could see his disfigurement. It was strange, it didn't trouble him now. Perhaps looking at Armand's scars for three straight days had made him more tolerant.

Erik was the first one to advance up the steps. He beckoned for the others to follow him. He led them down a hall and to a closed door. He held his ear up to it. He heard nothing. He motioned for the others to stay back and opened the door.

There was a moment of pure, absolute silence. Then suddenly a bang resounded through the house and Erik was pinned against a wall by a huge man with a knife. A very, very bad feeling began developing in Henri's gut. Armand stood still for a moment, and then ran at the thug with his sword drawn. The shoemaker decided he didn't want to see the result, so before the others even collided, he was in the room.

He found himself face to face with about six or seven other men. One lunged at him with a sword drawn. Henri struck out, but was caught by surprise when his foe grabbed his blade, held it still, and poked him in the chest. His sword was blunt, too. Just when Henri thought he might win, five others leaped forward. Erik suddenly appeared and stabbed the first man in the side. Things moved too fast to really see, but Henri soon found himself back to back with Erik, and they were surrounded by five men. Erik whispered something.

"Armand's down."

"What?"

"Big gash in his arm. I don't know if he can fight."

"Oh grand . . ."

Erik decided to break the silence at last and lunged with his sword. The other man parried, and soon they were fighting. Henri found himself battling two others. It was one of the most difficult things he had ever had to manage. He had to block and turn around fast enough to block another blow and turn around again to stop himself being stabbed. He was worn out in a matter of seconds. There was no way he could win. He was never going to see Madeline again . . .

The man in front of him fell. A second later, the other did too. Henri looked to see Armand standing there, his swords glittering with fresh blood. To the father's alarm, he saw it was not the only thing bloodstained. Armand's left sleeve was soaked with a deep scarlet liquid. Blood was dripping off of Armand's fingers. Him limb was rather limp, and Henri was surprised he could hold anything at all. The rich man was grinning, though, and kicked one of the fallen in the head. He had not killed either of them.

Erik, on the other hand, was not quite so well off. First, he had three opponents. Second, no one was helping him. Things got even worse when he saw that his friends were also locked in a battle with fresh challengers and couldn't come to his aid. He was a better fighter than Henri, though, so he did not grow weary nearly as fast.

Armand slashed one man across the torso and kicked him over. He was hungry for combat despite his arm. He looked over his shoulder and saw Erik fighting three men. He caught one man's attention and the two began to fight. This clash was longer than the others. This man was an accomplished swordsman. Still, Armand came very close to defeating him many times, but his injury stopped him.

The Phantom's luck improved when Armand interfered. He wounded both the other men and found himself next to a cage, facing a man. A man he had seen before. His attempted murderer and Madeline's kidnapper. Bakar.

The criminal glared at him in astonishment. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"How rude of me." Erik said sarcastically. "Perhaps this shall not be such a problem once I am finished with you."

Bakar smirked. "So I am the villain now? I am the one they want to kill? I remember, vaguely, when it was the opposite."

Erik froze. A terrible realization dawned on him. This whole time he'd been a hypocrite. Raoul had felt exactly as he did now when the Phantom had taken Christine down to his lair. He thought about La Carlotta's horror as she found the dead body of her lover. People had died in the fire caused by the chandelier. Erik had threatened and destroyed countless relationships. But when Madeline had been kidnapped he had thought "how could anyone do such a thing? How could anyone devastate a family like that?" _All this time I've –_

_**Whack**_

The stinging of a whip was all too familiar. Erik crumpled to the ground. Blood trickled into his eye. He gazed up at the other man, his whip like a snake prepared to bite. Erik was a little boy again; defenseless, barely human-like, finally submitting to his master's cruelty once he saw the futility of fleeing.

"Isn't it interesting how psychological warfare works?" Bakar struck him again. "At first your provoker will seem so confident, but in a matter of a few words they are on the ground, completely at your mercy." The flogging continued between words. "All one needs is a brief knowledge of your opponent's past and regrets." He intensified the beatings yet again. Erik cowered beneath them. "I loved Madeline, from the moment I saw her while I worked as a servant. When I learned that she may never be at the house again, I fled and tried to find her that very night. I saw her father from a distance and followed him. I kept a close watch on the home for many days. I decided you posed a threat to me, so when you left I tried to kill you. I organized a plan to kidnap her so she would be mine, and mine only. She belongs to me!"

From the corner of his eye, Henri saw a cloaked figure on the ground. Above him, Bakar was raining blows on the disfigured man with his whip. While he was distracted, the only remaining thug dove at him with his rapier. Henri felt a sharp twinge in his lower thigh and collapsed with a little cry of pain. He looked around the room as his fell. Armand could no longer fight; he had lost too much blood. He lay hardly conscious amongst the forms of his foes. Henri looked to the cage, and his heart skipped a beat. His daughter stared back at him. He smiled. He hadn't thought he would see her again. "_Je t'aime._" He whispered. There was no chance of them winning now. They had failed. But as Henri looked at the woman's face, he wondered what it really meant to win. He saw the man before him raise his sword to kill him. Henri waited to die. He was content.

"Halt! All of you!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned.

There in the doorway stood a squad of armed policemen, led by a little girl named Genevieve.

As the thugs stared dumbfounded, Erik gathered some of his wits. He reached one bleeding arm up to Bakar's belt and took the ring of keys. As he fumbled, Henri dragged himself over. The Phantom unlocked the prison. Madeline almost ran out and hugged her father. As the police began the process of taking the enemies from the house, the little band gathered themselves together. Supporting each other, they left the building.

It was not until much later that Erik realized he had not been wearing his mask.

**BTW, that's not the end. There are a couple chapters still to go.** **I would really, really like to hear feed back on this. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!! I ask everyone who reads this to leave a comment. I don't care if it's anonymous. I don't care if it's just "that's nice" or "There are some things you could fix:" or "OMG dat wz kewl!!1!". JUST REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	17. Recovery

**Hey-hi-hiddle-huggle-heedle-hee-ho! This chapter reveals a very important secret Madeline has. Bee dee ba! That was a reference, by the way. Oh, and I LOVED the reviews I got last time! Can you guys do that again? Cause it'd be cool if you did. **

**Well, there's not much else for me to say, so read on!**

**Chapter 17: **Recovery

The maids were very busy. They bustled about frantically. None of them seemed to really believe that a little girl could properly tend to their master or his friends. They were constantly knocking on the door and asking if they should change the sheets or if they could "lend a tiny bit of their skills".

"Goodness, you'd think they'd never seen a child prodigy before." grumbled Genevieve as she returned to her work. Erik had to smile.

They had returned from the fight and settled in a room with two beds in it. Henri was in one and Armand in the other. Erik sat in the corner, as he was not badly wounded and did not require much care he could not provide for himself. He looked into his friends faces. Armand was pale, and worryingly so. The gash in his arm had been serious and he had passed out from blood loss. They had decided to call a doctor, who was likely to arrive within the hour. Henri was sleeping peacefully. His leg would be out of commission for a week or two, but he would definitely recuperate over time. Genevieve sat on the floor, blurry eyed. She yawned. _She's probably never stayed up this late. _Erik noted that the clock on the wall read 3h 27.

"Here, Genny, you may have my chair." The man stood and went for the door. "I am going to speak with your sister." The child ran eagerly to his seat as Erik made his way down the hall. A maid became absolutely fascinated by the dirty laundry she was carrying as Erik passed her. A young manservant discovered that the design on the wallpaper absolutely enthralling as Erik walked down corridor. The disfigured man knew it was because they didn't want to seem rude by staring at his face. He didn't mind. In fact, it made him feel surprised, but pleased. It meant that people cared about how he felt or what he thought of him. No one had done that before.

He reached the door to Madeline's room. For obvious reasons, she was not staying with the men. No one had seen her since they had returned. She wouldn't let anyone into her domain. But he felt he had to speak with her, to make sure she was alright, to comfort her.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Nothing happened. He tried again.

"Madeline? It's me, Erik. May I come in?"

No response. He opened the door the tiniest bit and then closed it again. He heard the sound of a glass bottle smashing against the wood. _This might be harder than I anticipated . . _"Madeline, I'm coming in." There were no sounds from the other side. Taking one final moment to prepare himself, Erik threw the door open and marched into her room.

There was a pause, and then a bottle of perfume flew at him and hit him in the gut. It smashed on the floor and the room immediately stank of vanilla, to a point it was over-whelming.

"What are yo- oof!" another bottle hit him in the chest and broke on his feet. This one was lavender. The little fragments cut through his shoes. Yet another hit him in the leg. The glass shattered on the floorboards. This one was by far the heaviest scent. The whole place was washed in the smell of roses.

Erik coughed indignantly and tried to fan the stink away from him. When he was able to breathe again, he looked around to see the young woman standing by the vanity, poised to through a water jug at him. They stared at each other for a minute. Suddenly Madeline's bad leg gave way beneath her and she almost fell, but she caught herself on the edge of the vanity. Erik rushed to her side and helped to over to the bed and sat down with her.

"What was that?" he demanded, but not too harshly. "I am not going to hurt you, Maddi. There's no need to attack me. I came to help."

The young woman looked at him. She had taken a bath and washed her hair, and she looked much better now, appearance-wise, anyway. She was wearing a simple yet elegant dress she had borrowed from a maid. The Brunet manor did not house any females otherwise. Madeline gazed into Erik's eyes sadly. She was biting her lip. Suddenly she burst into hysterical sobs and buried her face in Erik's shirt.

Erik was absolutely stunned. He had never, ever, in his whole life, had anyone do something such as this. He stared at the top of the girl's head. He was baffled. That didn't occur often. He didn't know how to react in the least. He decided to just wait it out. Soon, he realized that Madeline was talking between sobs.

"Oh, Erik! I d-d-don't know wh-what to d-do an-an-an-anymore! I'm s-so c-c-confused. I keep thinking h-h-he'll show up wh-when I'm not looking and grab m-m-me from b-behind. And . . . and I have to t-tell Papa something im-important, but I-I-I don't know how I'm going to . . . to do it and what he'll do when he finds out . . ."

Erik waited patiently for her to run out of tears. When she did, she straightened up and wiped her eyes. "Sorry . . . I had to do that."

The man wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, either. Should he ask her about her ramblings? Or should he continue as he had planned to before the perfume incident. He chose the latter.

"Madeline, I noticed earlier . . ." he paused in a very awkward, un-Phantom like way and tried to find a good way to word what he was attempting to say. He seemed to have lost all his usual characteristics. Stolidity being one of them. "Your back." He said simply.

Madeline was very much amused by Erik's nervousness, and tried hard not to show it. "My back?" of course, she knew what he was referring to, but decided she might as well have a little fun.

"Yes, that. I saw it was not exactly in what one would call a 'good way'. I assumed Bakar . . . with his whip . . . well, I have this cream." he continued hastily "It would help the healing process and limit scarring." He produced a little tin from his pocket. He watched his companion's face as she considered his offer. All the while, he was yelling at himself mentally. _You blubbering fool! What are you doing? "Your back"? What was that?_ Erik began to plan in his mind what he was going to say. He had never felt this odd feeling before. It was like he was some unpopular adolescent who had grown up going to a strict, sheltered all-boys school trying to woo a rich pretty girl for the first time. He hated the feeling. Even during his real teenage years, this had never felt this uncomfortable emotion. Not that he had ever had a chance to.

Madeline decided there was no harm in complying. She turned and Erik began to undo the buttons on the back of her gown. He was pleased to see that his fingers had not been affected by the clumsiness of his mind as he unlaced her corset. They both realized that if anyone were to walk in at that very moment, they would most likely misinterpret what was happening and there would be much embarrassed explaining that would not necessarily be believed. _The last thing Armand needs right now is scandal flying about his household. _Erik decided, and was about to stop, when a memory came to his mind's eye that convinced him to continue. He put a little of the ointment on his fingers and started rubbing it into the cuts on Madeline's skin.

The girl was tense first, but then relaxed under his touch. Underneath the stench of the perfume she could smell the light scent of almonds that was tinged with some sort of flower. It made her feel very calm, and she was grateful for it. Then a question crossed her mind.

"Erik?" she asked "Did you make that balm yourself?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Why did you have it in your pocket?" Erik froze. How was he going to respond to that? Madeline went on jokingly. "Is just because one can never tell when a random passerby decides you deserve a beating? Just in case. You never know."

There was a long silence "Erik?" she turned her head to look at him. He was staring at the floor, deep in thought. She could only see the disfigured half of his face. She saw that there was dried blood on his forehead from where he had been struck on the face. "Are you alright?' Madeline grew concerned. Finally, he spoke.

"You guessed correctly."

"What de you mean?"

"Have you ever heard of a freak show?"

Madeline began to understand. "Oh, God. Erik . . . are you saying . . .?"

"That is precisely what I am saying."

Madeline was absolutely stunned. What was she supposed to do? It wasn't a common scenario, this. No matter how adaptable you were, it was not an easy thing to deal with. Then Erik decided to tell her his story. And it horrified her all the more.

"I was nine when they caught me. Gypsies, it was. I was running away from home. I was lost in the forest, I hadn't eaten in so long, so I was trying to steal from them when they grabbed me and forced me to take off my mask. One of their company realized there was a profit to be made off of my ugliness. Next thing I knew, I was in a cage. Javert, I think, was my master's name. Though I had many other things I called him inside my head. I am most likely not permitted to say any of them out load in front of a lady.

"He had a fondness for spirits, Javert. And I am not referring to the art of communicating the deceased that is so popular amongst his people. He was always yelling about something or other, and was never seen without his whip. It was not the sort of whip one would with a horse, oh no. This was more like the kind used on Good Friday. Pieces of glass were imbedded in the leather."

Madeline didn't want to hear any more, but at the same time she knew she had to listen, for his sake. He continued. "Javert, as I have said, greatly enjoyed alcohol. It had done permanent damage, I think, or perhaps the man was not properly sane. But either way, he found some reason to beat me at least once a day. Once when the band was traveling, he would stop at mealtimes and strike me for making too much noise, even though I had been sleeping silently for more than three hours. I don't believe he considered me truly human, and I suppose I never did the same for him. He was too cruel to be one of us, or at least that's what I thought then. Now I realize that all people are like that. They don't like what is different. They try to destroy it, or at least make it suffer.

"A few years later the gypsies were in Paris. We went through the usual routine: the crowd comes, they see my face, they laugh as Javert shows his skills with the whip. Then they give Javert money for his entertainment. But around the fourth time we did that that day, something changed. While Javert was distracted, I saw a piece of rope, and my chance. I strangled him before he even had a chance to turn around. Then a young girl, Antoinette Giry, saw that the police were coming, and led me to the catacombs of the opera house. I have lived there ever since, solitary, in darkness."

There was an utter silence. Madeline had not been expecting that. She had always supposed Erik had not had a pleasant past, but never something so horrible. She imagined little Genevieve, her sister whom she so loved dearly, in a cage, alone, hated. How could anyone do such a thing to a _child_? True, the disfigurement was ugly, but it was not hideous. _What world do we live in, where we destroy a life out of small disgust? _Suddenly, Erik's strange behavior at the opera made sense. What love he had felt for Christine had been the only love he had ever known. He would've done anything to preserve it, even if he had to kill. A little idea blossomed in her mind.

Madeline reached forward and plucked the little tin from his hand. He looked up at her.

"Hold still." She put one hand on the back of his head and started to massage the salve into the slash on his face. Erik was confused at first, but then realized that the girl was trying to help him. He had completely forgotten about the lacerations that covered his own body. He noticed that Madeline was staring straight at the broken part of his visage. But it was not the kind of discriminating, horrified staring, but more like the way anyone would gaze at the face of the face of anyone else. It was barely staring, really. It was just looking, and she was only focusing at the task at hand.

"Your chest is bleeding, too." Madeline said when she finished. Erik knew she was trying to help him. His arms, back, and stomach had also felt the sting of the lash at least twenty times. Bakar was not one for mercy. Erik knew they could get infected. He should let himself be tended to. Any normal person would have. But a worry in the back of his mind nipped at common sense. Reluctantly, he chose to adhere to her suggestion and removed his shirt.

Madeline stared. Now she was truly even more horrified, if such an emotion was possible. Most of Erik's torso was scar tissue. She could see that most of the individual marks had been torn open again while they had been healing so long ago and now made his skin appear grotesque. He was well muscled, and would've made just about every girl Madeline knew tear their own ears off for one glimpse of him shirtless if it hadn't been for those scars **(A/N: I am not one of those people. I swear. Trust me (shifty eyes).)**. The tiniest bit of doubt she'd had in Erik's story flickered and died that very second. No way would anyone do something like that to themselves just for attention. Even in a suicidal state of mind, no one would do that to themselves.

She began to apply the cream to a slash on his shoulder, but more gingerly this time, like she was afraid she was going to hurt him too much. He saw it.

"Madeline, the scars are from old wounds. I can't feel them now."

"I know, Erik, it's just . . ."

". . . Just hard to get used to. I know."

Madeline continued tending to the cuts, and neither of them said anything. When she was done she returned to Erik. She looked at the sheets of the bed they were sitting on, not wanting to make eye contact. It was so awkward for many long minutes.

Suddenly, Madeline found herself staring not at the blankets, but at Erik's eyelids. They were closed in pleasure. Their lips were touching. No, touching was not the right word. They were locked. Erik had grabbed her face and pressed her lips into his so fast she hadn't even noticed. This time, she didn't protest. She let him kiss her. There was no point in denying that she enjoyed it.

There was not point in denying that she was in love.

---

Henri limped down the hall, leaning on the wall for support. The doctor had just arrived to see to Armand. Henri had come to a few minutes before, and decided that he should leave the room so he wouldn't get underfoot for any reason. He had decided to visit Madeline. He had not spoken to her in so long. He needed to tell her how much he had missed her.

Finally he came to her door. It was slightly ajar. He pushed it open a bit and peered inside.

What he saw was enough to get any parent and average churchgoer a heart attack.

His daughter was sitting on a bed with Erik. The back of her corset was open quite wide. Erik was completely topless. The two were kissing rather passionately. Their eyes were sealed tightly in contentment.

Stunned, the father stood there in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

Then Madeline opened her eyes. She almost jumped. There stood her father, mouth agape, staring at them, shocked. Erik sensed her alarm and turned around.

"Good morning, M. Boufard." said Erik calmly. "It's good to see you out of bed so soon."

Henri opened and closed his mouth a few times before he managed to speak. "I . . . I am going to see . . . I'll go . . . I'll ask if the cooks can start breakfast." He turned tail and hobbled away as fast as his injured leg would allow.

The couple almost fell off the bed laughing.

---

The group congregated once more in the dining room. Armand was very groggy from the amount of medication that had been forced down his throat, but he had joined them for breakfast anyway. Genevieve was dead tired, and much in the same state of awareness as the former. Henri had had some sleep, but he was not feeling very well. Erik was sitting silently, thinking. Madeline was much the same. Finally she broke the hush and made everyone jump.

"It will be impossible to forget Bakar."

Henri reached out and touched her hand. "I know, Madeline. But remember, he's gone now, behind the stone walls of prison. He can never hurt you."

"Well, it's not Bakar himself I fear now. And it's not a thing that can be taken away."

"What do you mean, Maddi?" all attention was on the girl now. Everyone was giving her quizzically looks, even the heavily drugged Armand.

"I-" Madeline hesitated. Should she tell him? It would be hard to hide. He would have to learn sometime. But everyone was there. It would be strange with everyone knowing. _They saved me. They have the right to know. _She decided, and took a deep breath.

"I am carrying Bakar's child."

**And that's why this phic is rated T.**


	18. Arguments and Amends

**Sorry about the cliffhanger last time! And the long wait! More fluff in this chapter! YAY!**

**Just for the record, I am very neutral on the abortion debate. The opinions expressed in this chapter are those of people that would have lived a couple centuries earlier than the current date. The whole surgical procedure would have been far more dangerous and frowned upon than it is presently. Please to not send me angry emails. That would be rash. Like Will Turner. Though that might encourage some of you. So just don't flame me, and don't pretend to be Orlando Bloom. Even though he has big, cute, brown, puppy eyes that could make anyone melt. (cough) On to the story.**

**Chapter 18: **Arguments and Amends

Erik dropped his fork. Armand froze. Genevieve looked genuinely confused. Henri turned ghostly white. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, making little "umm, uh" noises.

"You're pregnant." He said finally, after much gaping stupidly.

"As I said."

"But how?" Genevieve demanded. "You're not married. Don't you have to be married to have babies?"

"Genny, you haven't slept much today. I'm exhausted. Let's go upstairs and take a little nap." Armand managed to say. The little girl was about to protest, but then decided there was no use. As Armand led her out of the room, Henri gave him a very grateful look. Erik noticed all the maids that had been cleaning had disappeared.

Even when there were only three of them, it took a while before they began a real conversation. There was an awkward silence for a very long time. Erik couldn't believe it. He had guessed what sort of thing kidnappers did to their victims. He had also calculated the chances of conception. They weren't high. But it had happened, anyway. Of course.

All of them knew how very difficult a situation this was. Madeline was not married. If she had her baby before she was wed she would be shunned by the vast majority of society. Even if she had her child any less than seven and a half months after the wedding, everyone that had known the date of the ceremony would likely avoid her. That gave about six weeks to find a fiancé. Both the men were thinking about this.

"Abortion is an option." Madeline pointed out.

"No." her father snapped immediately.

"Papa-"

"Madeline, have you any idea what that would entail? I am not going to let some crazed traveling surgeon butcher my daughter with a knitting needle on our kitchen table!"

"I know what it entails, Papa! But what am I supposed to do? Let myself be hated for the rest of my life. Allow the world to consider me no better than the soil they walk on?"

The family members glared at each other angrily. Erik interrupted the spat.

"Your father is right. An abortion is too dangerous. There's a massive risk of infection. Also, the procedure is illegal, not to mention excruciatingly painful. There would be no medicine to dull any pain you had."

"And you could be left infertile. We only want-" Henri added, and then was cut off mid-sentence.

"I know, I know. You only want what's best for me." Madeline grunted, obviously defeated. "It was only an idea. A stupid idea, clearly. But what shall I do, then?"

There was a pause.

"You shall have to get married."

"To whom? Oh, I'm not ready for this!" Madeline seemed close to tears. Henri felt a bit guilty, but he had to be straight with her. He decided none of them were strong enough to discuss the issue, not today.

"Listen, I don't think this is the best time. We all need to think. Perhaps in a few days, when we can think clearly, we shall speak again. For now, we all need to get some rest." He got to his feet and limped out of the room.

Erik was watching him. It startled him went he felt a weight on his chest. He looked down to see the young woman once again crying into his shirt. This time, he decided he would try to hug her. He wrapped his arms around her. It was not an action he was familiar with. It seemed to be the right thing to do, though, because Madeline calmed a bit.

"Maddi?"

Madeline looked up at him. He cupped her face in his hands. Uncertainty nipped at his thoughts like a yappy little lap dog. Did normal lovers always do that? Were they really lovers? _Yes. _Erik remembered the kiss they had shared. _That meant something. _It had not been the reluctant kiss Christine had given him in the lair. This was better.

"I know this is hard." there was understanding and kindness in Erik's voice. It was totally new to him. He was silent with shock for a brief moment, and then carried on. "I think your father is correct once again. We need some time to recuperate. To think. Maybe after a few nights' sleep we'll be prepared to discuss the issue for a second time." He kissed her forehead lightly and the two walked upstairs together. They separated without saying a word.

---

The snow was melting. It had been a particularly cold winter, and everyone in Paris was glad to see it finally come to an end. It had been two days since her return, and Madeline was feeling much better. Of course, she would not feel normal for a long time, possibly never, but it felt glorious to sleep in a real bed and eat proper meals again. Her foot was beginning to heal and she could walk quite well on her own, so she decided to take a stroll around the grounds of Brunet manor.

She had woken up very early, just before sunrise. It seemed that everyone was sleeping except for the odd servant, so she ate a quick breakfast and began her exploration of the dewy gardens. She was sure to bring her sketchbook with her.

Madeline had forgotten how beautiful those gardens were. Although the bushes had not yet regained their foliage, they were covered in a light frost and were glittering in the first slow rays of the sun. The pine trees that dotted the yard were much the same, shining and perfect. She remembered how much Armand loved the outdoors. She also remembered the way to what was possibly her favorite place in Paris, and it happened to be within a two minutes' walk. Madeline turned down a path to her left.

It was a divine sight. A medium-sized pond surrounded by fresh, dewy pines. Two swans swam side by side. They lived on the ground all year round, and were given food, so there was no need for them to migrate. The ducks still left, though. They would not return for a week or two yet. Despite that, Madeline swelled with joy looking at the place. It was serine and quiet. The water was glass smooth and was only disturbed by the swan's paddling. She knew she had to keep her distance from the fowl. They could be very violent if they felt angry or threatened. But this risk only made the place more appealing because it was forbidden. Most things that people found refuge or comfort in were forbidden somehow. If you fell in love with someone of the same gender, you were separated and beaten. If you indulged in intoxicants you could kill yourself slowly without even knowing. If you sang or made music to calm yourself, there would always be someone to tell you to shut up or quiet down. Madeline's comfort was not quiet as serious, but carried the same concept. If she came to close to the pool, she could easily loose a finger, and her pride. The idea of being maimed by a domesticated water bird made her smile.

Also, this place was her Eden. She didn't want to be Eve.

The young woman settled on a flat rock that protruded from the ground and removed her shoes. Her right foot had been a squished between the leather and the bandage, so it was a relief to feel the cool grass between her toes. As she stretched her tired limbs, her mind wandered to another forbidden pleasure: the knowledge that deep inside of her, unmarred and unhindered by the world's cruelty and intolerance, her unborn child was growing. It was a forbidden love because the child was the son or daughter of a rapist and his victim, borne by a slave who had unwillingly received and always would carry a criminal's seed. She thought about the argument her father had had with her. He had only mentioned what an abortion would do to the mother. Burn, mutilate, possibly kill. He never had referred to the life inside of her. Not like he considered it a life, anyway.

She had not spoken to Genevieve, Armand, or Henri since they learned of her pregnancy. She suspected someone had given her sister "The Talk", because now the little girl gave her older sibling terrified yet sympathetic looks whenever they passed each other in the halls or sat across the table at mealtimes.

Only Erik had remained with her, and they had grown closer and more intimate than Madeline had ever been with her former fiancé. She had told him about her life, and he about his. They found they both liked music, horses, fires, warmth, and were determined workers. Erik was awkward sometimes, though, with even the most common signs of affection. He had never held hands with anyone before, for example, so when Madeline had grasped his fingers in hers the man had recoiled for a moment. She realized in the past, when people grabbed him it would have meant they wanted him to stay put so they could yell at or even hit him.

The mother-to-be had come to love her developing infant because in a way, she was never alone. Before now when she was not with Erik she would be in her room crying. Sometimes she would sob for herself, sometimes for her lover, and sometimes for everyone and no one at the same time. But in the midst of her infinite sorrow she would feel something move, so slightly it was almost impossible to feel, so tiny it was barely possible to imagine, inside her. She liked to think it was her child trying to console her. It was reminding her that it was there, it needed her. She couldn't brake down now. It hadn't even entered the world yet. Madeline decided that even though it sounded cliché and corny, that's how she felt, and nobody needed to know. Maybe when she was in wedlock, she would tell her husband. For now, though, it was her secret.

Madeline realized that as she had been thinking, she had begun to sketch unconsciously. There was herself, with a newborn in her arms. She was wearing her favorite dress with her shiny cross necklace and best hat and coat, like what she would wear to mass on a late autumn morning. The child was so young, no more than a few days old. It was wrapped in a blanket and all that was visible was the sleeping face and bald head, so it didn't appear to be male or female. She had started to draw her husband with his arm around her, but right now she only had half his torso drawn. She already knew who it was, anyway.

"Madeline!" the voice startled her. She snapped her sketch book closed and turned her head so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Armand was walking down the path toward her. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No. Not at all."

He settled down beside her, sitting on his cloak. His wounded arm had been in a sling for a few days, since it hurt his to move it, therefore it had often been in the way. The burn on his face had healed well. It was about as normal as it ever be again, and Madeline had to admit he was looking rather handsome. He unclasped his cloak with his good hand and let it slip off his shoulders and into the damp grass.

"It's getting warmer now. The snow's almost all gone."

"Hmm." She replied. The girl was nervous about talking to him. They hadn't had a real conversation since the night at the opera house that had changed so many lives.

"Were you drawing?"

"Trying to." She wasn't going to tell him about her unfinished picture. It was a bit embarrassing.

"I remember you showing me some of your work once. It was very impressive."

Madeline blushed. "_Merci_." She said quietly.

"How's your foot?"

"It's getting better." She wiggled her toes a bit, as if she needed to reassure herself that it was true.

"I didn't think you would be able to walk down here. But a guess you're getting better faster than I thought." She shrugged.

"It was really slow at first, but for the past couple of days it's been so rapid, the doctor who saw me yesterday couldn't believe it." She was getting more confident. "How about you're arm?"

He sighed. "I wish I was getting along as well as you are, but it got a bit infected when it was still fresh and now it hasn't healed at all."

"That's too bad."

"It's quite irritating. I can still ride, but I can not lift many things. And I'm right handed. I can't even write!" He shifted a bit. "It's always sore. But it's not too bad. I got some medicine that I started taking today that might help."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

There was a pause. Madeline wanted to say something, but couldn't think of anything. Armand had something to say, she could tell, but he couldn't find good words to say it with. After a few minutes the man found his tongue.

"I came down here for a reason, Madeline." He began. "I know you love this spot. We came here regularly when . . . before the fire." He stumbled and needed to find his ground again. She waited patiently for him to continue. "I wanted to tell you . . . well, I want to let you know that . . . I don't want you to feel pressured. You know, to marry me. Look, what I mean to say is that I know you don't love me, so I don't think you and I should be together if you do not wish it. I think you should marry Erik." Armand bit his lip. He was mentally slapping himself for saying that last sentence out loud.

Madeline was not angry with her companion, as he thought.

"No, don't fret, Armand, you are right. I love Erik. You and I are friends and friends only. It means very much to me that you would come to say this to me." She leaned over and kissed his gently on his cheek, proving to him there were no hard feelings between them.

**So that's that. I've noticed that some of the middle chapters seemed rather flat to me. They lacked description. I felt unsatisfied after I wrote them, but I couldn't find a place to change them for the better. If you felt the same way, I hope this makes up for it.**

**REVIEW MY ANGELS OF READING!!!**


	19. Starting Anew

**Hi all. Someone finally bought me _Andrew Lloyd Webber's_ _The Phantom of the Opera _DVD! Leah, if you're reading this, which I doubt because you haven't actually seen the aforementioned movie, I love you! In a friend way. My guinea pig and I watched it on Thursday. I think he liked it, but it can be hard to tell with cavies. I cried at the end. But I noticed something: the Phantom's right ear looks really fake. It's a weird colour compared to the rest of his skin. Is it supposed to be like that? Is it actually the wrong colour, or am I just stupid/insane? EMAIL ME!**

**So ya. Sorry this took so long! Please don't hurt me, there's no need to. I've already smacked myself multiple times. Wow that sounded emo . . . (Laughs). I've had writers' block something awful. Sorry!**

**Chapter 19: **Starting Anew

Genevieve tucked her last dress into her suitcase. They had been at the Brunet Manor for a week now. The girl had been excused from school for a few days because of "family matters", as they had told the head mistress. Henri still couldn't walk well, but since he couldn't lean on his oldest daughter all the time, he had taken to using a cane. The girls teased him about it. They thought it made him look like an old, pall, rich snob. Armand would laugh and say, "Are you making fun of my father or yours?"

The little girl stopped mid-thought as she came across a small dilemma. Her baggage wouldn't close. _Oh, not again! _This happened every time she went on a trip, even if it was just an overnight school outing to a neighboring village. It was as if the clothes were like a sponge in water. During the time they were away from their drawer, they expanded. Sighing, Genevieve remembered the best method of closing the suitcase. She climbed up on the bed the case was sitting on. She then turned around plunked her rear quite flatly on top. She had to bounce up and down a bit. Finally, she heard the satisfying click of the suitcase closing.

Feeling triumphant, the child started to make her way down the stairs

---

The group waited in the entrance hall for the carriages to be brought around from the back of the mansion. Henri, Erik, and Armand were saying their farewells. Madeline was in the corner, double-checking to make sure she had everything. Just as she finished, the awaited means of transportation arrived at the door.

"Has anyone seen Genevieve?" asked Henri with a start.

"Not since breakfast."

"Oh, no, this could take hours." Henri remembered how huge the Brunet manor was, not counting the grounds surrounding it. "Genevieve!" he called.

"I'll check the room she was using." offered one of the maids that had been sweeping the adjacent hall and had heard the discussion.

"I'll see if she's in the kitchens." said Erik, and ran off.

Before long, the whole party and a few of the servants were rushing around frantically, calling the girl's name. Twenty minutes later, Henri walked back to the main entrance from the second storey, flabbergasted. His youngest daughter was not to be found anywhere. They had checked all the upstairs floors and most of the main rooms downstairs. He limped down the staircase muttering to himself.

"Where in the name of Heaven has she gotten to? Probably hiding just to spite us. Thinks it's funny, likely. All this can't be good for my leg. Or my nerves, for that matter. If I find her, I'll let Erik lock . . . GENNY!"

Genevieve was standing by the door, frowning and tapping her foot impatiently. "It's about time you got here, Papa." she said "I've been here for a least a quarter of an hour, waiting for you! Where are the others?"

"Where were you?!"

"Here."

"No! I mean when everyone else was here!"

"Oh. I was coming down the stairs. You know the ones by the kitchen? The ones that no one ever uses? The ones with the spiders? Well, I wasn't even five steps when my suitcase just popped open. My stuff went all over the place and I had to pack it up again."

"You used the stairway by the kitchen?" Henri felt angry. That was rare. "Why on Earth did you do that? It's behind a door, between a laundry shoot and a washroom! Why did you even bother to look?!"

"Did you expect me to ignore it?"

"That place smells like molding paper! I don't even think I've ever seen anyone actually use it! It's behind a tiny, ugly door. What were you thinking?"

"How do you know about the stairwell, then, if it's so hidden and boring?"

Henri froze.

"Well played, Genevieve." said a voice. They both turned the see Erik enter, chuckling to himself. He had been happier than any of them had ever seen him this past week. He had spent the whole time in the mansion and around people, though he barely spoke to anyone outside of their party. The love between the Phantom and Madeline had flourished like the climax of a wonderful but terribly short novel. There had even been occasions where Erik had gone without his mask.

In contrast, Henri had become rather withdrawn and crabby. He was endlessly worried for his oldest daughter. He knew that deep down half the reason Madeline had grown so close to Erik in so short a time was because being around other people took her mind off her own struggle. Henri did not deny the couple's love. In fact, he thought the two went together beautifully. He could almost see an artist asking permission to paint them holding each other. But before this whole incident, Madeline would've insisted things go slower. Erik was, in a way, a distraction. Henri's anxiety for her was so great it made him horribly grumpy. He had only been like this once before in his life. His wife had died that day.

---

Madeline and Erik rode in the coach side by side. Genevieve and Henri were in another behind them. Madeline was thinking about their destination. She was excited about being able to see her friends again. _They are going to drop our family off at our home, and Erik is going to walk to his . . . _Madeline's train of thought crashed abruptly.

"Erik?" Madeline broke the silence, and her companion's ponderings. He faced her.

"Yes?"

"Erik, where do you live? You've never mentioned it."

Erik smiled a little. "Come to the west side of the Opera Populaire at half past fifteen and I'll show you. And dress warm."

---

"Oh, Maddi, you must've been terrified!" Marie squealed. Madeline almost laughed out loud from happiness, despite the topic of their conversation. She had missed so many things while she had been gone it was delightful to experience them again. Armand's house had been lovely, but it had not been the Boufard family's apartment, with the shop just below it. As soon as she had returned, Henri had set to work with his shoes and Genevieve had gone out to play. Madeline's long-time friend Marie had dropped by and the two chatted over lunch. The other girl's motherly worrying attitude always made her feel protected.

"Bakar fed me very little. Most of it was the things he had not eaten at his own meals. And there was the wine-"

"I don't want to hear anymore of what that dreadful man did to you!" her friend said. "You've told me already about how he hit you. Can we not speak of something a bit less solemn? I heard you spent some time at the Brunet Manor. Tell me about that."

"Oh, it was very nice. Armand was terrible kind to me. I learned an interesting piece of news there."

"What?" asked Marie, eager to hear.

"I'm pregnant."

Silence.

"Oh . . ." Marie was very pale. "Oh, how . . . goodness . . . are you sure?"

Madeline nodded.

"Whatever are you going to do?"

"I can't honestly say I know, Marie. It's only a week along; I have a bit of time. I have a new "friend", if it makes you feel any better."

Marie caught the hint and brightened immediately. "Really? What's his name? You must tell me about him!"

"His name's Erik."

"Is he handsome?"

"Yes. He is older than me by at least twenty years, but he is a wonderful man. He's so sophisticated but sensitive all the same time. And his voice can make any girl melt."

"Oh!" Marie giggled "What's his family name?"

The pregnant woman froze. What was Erik's last name? Did he even have one? Of course he did, he had a mother she had been told about. But he had never told his lover, if he remembered it at all, which she somehow doubted. She thought of the first thing that came to her mind, using the name of a character in a romance novel she had read once.

"Destler, I think. I may be wrong. I'm a bit tired today; my memory isn't at its best."

As Marie continued to throw questions at her, Madeline secretly decided in her mind she would ask Erik some things herself.

---

Henri had been at first hesitant to let Madeline go "wandering about the streets alone at such an hour", as he put it. She reminded him that she knew exactly where she was going, someone he could trust would be taking care of her, she knew many people who lived along her route, she would maybe be outside for a grand total of fifteen minutes, and it was nowhere near dark outside. After much consideration, her father consented. Only after she gave him the pleading, innocent, "how could you ever say no to me?" eyes, though. Even after that he had her dress in multiple layers.

"It's cold at Erik's home. You'll need this. Trust me."

"Wait . . . you never told me you'd been to Erik's home."

"I have. Most of the few memories I have of it were not what most people would call pleasant. There was a torture chamber involved."

"When did this happen?"

"While you were . . . gone." Henri chose his words carefully. "How did you think I got Erik's help?"

"I'm not sure. I hadn't really thought of it. Oh well. I should go. I'll be late." Her father followed her down the stairs to the door of the shop.

"Be careful." He said, and she was gone.

---

Madeline waited impatiently by the west wall of the opera house. She saw from the church across the street's clock that Erik was ten minutes behind schedule. Perhaps he was the type that would try to be "fashionably late". She wouldn't put it past him. He had class; he would be able to get away with it with most people. Madeline wondered whether she would even be able to follow that crowd at this rate. Grumbling, she decided to at least make herself comfortable and sit down.

The city looked so busy. A woman led a little group of small children through the streets, patiently answering their questions and gently urging them to continue walking. A newsboy (**A/N: that word always reminds me of that amazing Christian rock band Newsboys. I saw them live and it was fabulous!**) hollered the most intriguing headlines at the top of his voice. A young couple walked arm in arm. A group of boys on bicycles played a game where they rushed headlong at an inattentive pedestrian and swerved at the exact moment they were going to collide, much to the displeasure of the aforementioned person on foot. The antics made Madeline chuckle and inspired her. She pulled out her sketch book, which she had brought in case she did end up having to wait, and started to draw the scene in front of her.

Time lost all its importance as she worked. She was so absorbed, in fact, she did not notice when one of the very male youths that amused her tried to scare her with his bike. So absorbed, in fact, she did not notice Erik until he commented on her drawing.

"There could be a bit more shading on that house."

The familiar voice startled her so much she dropped her pencil. Erik picked it up and handed it to her. He was wearing his long black cloak, the hood covering his face. He was an oddity on such a warm day. "I apologize that I am close to half an hour late. I was waiting for some people to leave, so there'd be fewer witnesses, but there has been no lull. Hopefully they'll all be so engaged they won't see anyway." He helped her to her feet.

"Witnesses for what?" after all she'd been through, she couldn't help but be nervous.

"Forgive me, I did not choose my words wisely. I don't like having uninvited guests. I would have preferred it if no one could se the way to my home. No one except for you, of course."

"Where are we going?" she asked when they stopped next to a large grate in the wall that Madeline assumed was part of the opera house's ventilation system.

"Watch." Erik touched left top corner of the grate. Madeline saw it was the only corner with a screw or anything fastening it in place. But as she looked closer, Erik pressed down on it like it was a button on some kind of machine. The grate popped out of its niche easily. Erik caught it and looked around. When nobody else seemed to be focusing on them, he dropped the grate and jumped up and slipped right into the hole in the wall. Madeline gave a little squeak of surprise. The tunnel in the wall was huge, big enough for Erik to crawl on his hands and kneels and turn a complete circle in. "Follow me." He said "And don't forget to put the grate back. It snaps right back into place." Madeline complied, surprised at how easy it was to put the metal grate back in its place.

She followed Erik through the dusty stone passageway. The ceiling dripped on her head and hands. What kind of liquid fell, she did not know, for it had a strange stench. She decided she didn't want to ask.

Soon the sounds of the busy streets receded, and silence settled in. The warmth left, too, and for the first time the young woman was pleased she had worn so much.

Suddenly Erik turned and spoke. "We're at the end of this duct now. There's a room just beyond." He turned around and lowered himself to the ground outside. Madeline shuffled forward and looked over the rim of the circular exit. Erik was standing on the shore of a little stone harbor. Lanterns hung from the walls. In the murky water's edge there floated a sleek black gondola. The place seemed to glow with a strange golden quality, like the stones were sprinkled with shimmering dust.

"Jump down." said Erik. "I'll catch you." Madeline did as he said. As soon as she was in his arms, all her worries left her. He hugged her close, stroking her hair, and then released her. He held her hand and helped her into the little boat. He took the pole that had been leaning against the wall and joined her in the tiny craft. He pushed off from the shore, and Madeline began the true decent to his world.

She sat at his feet like a cat, looking around this new place with wide eyes. The walls had strange sculptures protruding from them, depicting of the great Poseidon in his proper realm.

"Did you make those?" she asked.

"I have a disturbing amount of free time."

"They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you."

Madeline blushed. It was much more flattering hearing such admiration from Erik than it was from an older relative. Erik's compliments were far more special. He did not say such lovely things about anyone.

But her wonder only grew as they reached their destination. The boat stopped in a cave that had been turned into a home. A pipe organ stood in the center, amidst a collection of broken mirrors and sheet music. A desk cluttered with papers also held a miniature replica of the theatre. Candles were everywhere; on the organ, on the desk, even raising out of the water were elaborate candelabras. Madeline was so spellbound she had to get out of the gondola and explore. Erik followed her, answering all her questions.

"Is this where you live?"

"For the past twenty-five years, this has been my home."

Madeline stroked the mighty musical instruments keys, fascinated by the way the candlelight made the ivory shine. "Can you play me something?" she asked him, remembering the music of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"I will," Erik said "If you will sing with me."

"I suppose . . . I suppose I could stay for a while . . ."

**Whistle whistle!**

**PLEASE REVIEW! I know this took me waaaaaaay too long, and I know it wasn't all that great, but please! This is the second last chapter. Next update is the very end! For my sake, tell me what you think!**

**Remember how long this chapter took me? Look and see how many reviews I got.**

**I'm sure you get what I mean.**


	20. Epilogue

**Well, here we go: the epilogue. I'm not sure whether to be happy this is finally over or sad that I can't make it last longer.**

**This fic is about ten months old, technically. I started writing it at my school science fair on the 8th of March 2006, while I was waiting to get judged. I remember the date because that day had been International Women's Day, and I had won a rose from a random draw my school had. I also admit that was kinda the beginning of my fascination with equality, and the day I decided that, if it helped any, I would throw a tampon at a political leader and scream "Feminism FOREVER!", and probably get arrested (laughs). But that's completely off topic. Back to the point; I was staring at this rose, and thinking about a plot that had been forming in my head for quite a few weeks. Then I grabbed some paper I had on hand and wrote the first few sentences. I entered a trance-like state of writing and remained there until a judge tapped me on the shoulder and I almost died of surprise. Thus, my life.**

**So that's my story. I'd like to thank the people who supported me while I wrote this, such as HPFanatic2478 (Erik's face! OH BURN!) and Golden Phoenix Feathers (It'll work someday, darling), and everyone else who reviewed or supported this fic. I love you all so much! I would list your names, but I know I'd leave someone out and they'd get all huffy at me. Oh well.**

**Please keep your eye on my account, because there'll be a new story up eventually, just you wait! Maybe it'll be RC because I sorta ignored them in this story, another EOC because they're so much fun, or who knows, maybe I'll actually get so incredibly daring I'll post a slash fic. That might be in the very distant future, though. Don't count on it! Or perhaps I'll do another fic to another fandom, maybe His Dark materials, Airtimes Fowl, Old Kingdom Trilogy, or even Fruits Basket! Oh, it would be really fun to write about Tohru or Momiji-chan! But I'm not good at modern day stuff, so maybe not. So, friends, please keep me in the back of your minds, or on your Author Alert List. Preferable the latter. **

**Peace, Hope, and Riding Crops in an Assortment of Colours,**

**Scarletquillraven**

**Chapter 20: **Epilogue

The wedding had been small. A few of the family's friends attended, included Armand and Antoinette Giry, and her daughter. The ceremony was held in a little church close to the Boufard home. Erik had worn his full Don Juan mask and usual dress-coat, and Henri ensured that the priest he found could be trusted in case he recognized the Phantom. All the guests who did not know of Erik's true story were told that he was simply self-conscious of his face, which had been scarred badly in an accident that had happened when he had been a child. Madeline had a simple blue wedding dress. At first she had wanted to wear Opale's, but she had decided that wearing white, the symbol of virginity, would be too big a lie, considering the fact she was a month pregnant. The wedding had been simple, with no real decorations and minimal guests. Erik did not like crowds, and the couple did not want attention to be drawn to them. Armand had offered to fund a larger service, but they humbly refused. So, still wanting to contribute, he bought them a house down the street from Madeline's childhood home. They accepted that gift.

When the plans had been first made a few worries came to mind. How would they support themselves? What would happen to Erik's home in the opera house? Where would they raise the child?

The last question was easily answered; the home Armand bought them was ideal. It was much like the Boufard home and many other buildings along the street. A shop on the bottom floor, an apartment on the top. The couple could sell the wares of their choice, or find business elsewhere and make the downstairs part of their normal home. After some great thought, it was decided that Erik, knowing so much about medicine, would teach his wife about the subject and the two would start an apothecary. As for the Lair, they decided it would be like a second home. Erik would stop by every so often to play his pipe organ and write music, and if the family ever needed shelter because of a fire or other disaster in their normal house they had a simple solution. Also, considering Erik's checkered past, if he or his new kin ever needed to escape the authorities, they had a refuge.

When Madeline broke the news to her father that she was engaged to Erik, he actually fainted. He later tried to explain that he had been so happy and relieved and nervous at the same time it had made him ill, he did a terrible job. After that, it came up I conversation constantly, and was always followed by whooping laughter, much to the shoemaker's distress.

Genevieve's reaction had been far more understandable for someone her age. She had cried "Hooray! _Finally!_" and grabbed her sister's legs in a tight hug.

Armand had shouted congratulations at the couple, and then proceeded to explain all the things they would need for the wedding, but he spoke so fast and was so elated no one could understand him, so Erik and Madeline just nodded and said the occasional "oh, that'll be just lovely."

Erik had been alone when he told Mme. Giry, and she had congratulated him rather calmly. The older woman had not yet met his future wife, though, and he had to explain the fact she was with another man's child. She was not shocked, seeing the fact she had been living with the artists' extravagant behavior at the opera for so long unwanted pregnancies were not a surprise. In fact she provided much support for Erik during his engagement.

---

After the wedding, everyone went to the newlyweds' house. They pushed aside all the furniture in the spacious room on the first floor and brought chairs from upstairs. They set the seats around the walls. Some people went home for a few minutes, and when they got back, they carried bottles of every kind of wine, gin, or other alcoholic drink one can imagine. M. Leblanc, a friend of Henri's, and brought a violin, and Madeline's good friend Carol had a flute that she could play. The bride and groom were pleasantly surprised; they hadn't been expecting a party.

The dancing went on for a long time. There was much cat-calling when Armand and Meg had waltzed together, to the embarrassment of them both and the amusement of everyone else. Genevieve and a few of her friends had to sit out for a while because a certain friend of Madeline's had felt bad and given them a whole bottle of whiskey to share. Everybody got up and moved in whatever way they thought fit the music, and all had a wonderful time.

Soon it was well past midnight, and the group was getting rather tired. Finally, when most of the guests thought they would never be able to walk home, Antoinette realized something.

"You know what, Erik?" she said "I don't think I've seen you and your wife dance together, all alone, as the center of attention."

"That is strange" Henri agreed "Seeing as you two are the entire reason we're here at all."

There was no way to get out of in after that, so the violin started a slow love song and Erik and Madeline became the interest of the entire room.

As they went around in circles, the couple couldn't help but stare at each other.

"Erik," Madeline said so quietly nobody else could hear.

"_Oui, mon ange?"_

Instead of speaking her reply, she captured his lips in the deepest kiss they had ever had.

While the people around them cheered quietly, Erik thought of how lucky he was, how much he loved his new wife, and above all, how they were so alike. She too had been so abused. Their whole family had, in truth. They were his family now, he realized. And despite the many trails they had seen, they remained as one, though a bit more faded every time, and they kept their unique beauty, like the petals on a grey and withered rose.

**fin**


End file.
